So happy to report that I am officially halfway through this pregnancy, having hit the 20-week mark today!
Such a funny mix of feelings comes with hitting this point in the pregnancy.
On the one hand, I am thrilled and feel so relieved and in awe to have gotten to this point unscathed, and to have this pregnancy still healthy and intact after all we've been through to get here. And I am terribly excited that I only have 20 (well, actually, only 19) weeks left until I'm holding my baby girl!
WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
On the other hand, it hit me the other night that I'm staring down the barrel at a C-section in 19 weeks, which is a bit daunting considering I hate surgery and I'm starting to remember how long and unpleasant my recovery was after my C-section with Super Boy nearly 8 years ago.
EEEK!
I'm sure this one will be SOMEWHAT different and - hopefully - better, because I won't be in labor for 30 hours prior to having surgery this time, and I won't be starving, pumped full of fluids and drugs, and going on no sleep for the better part of a day and a half. There is a fair amount of consolation in all of that, believe me. But it's still a surgery, planned or not, and my worry-wart mind can't ignore all the implications of that. I realize that all I can do is prepare myself as best I can and pray that all goes as it's supposed to, and that is what I fully intend to do. Just know that as each week brings me closer to 5.11.11, I will be getting more and more anxious at the impending operation!
On the positive side, I've already decided that instead of having Super Man stay home with me the first week after the baby comes, as he did with Super Boy, I'm having my mom stay with me. There's a VERY GOOD REASON for this, my friends.
With Super Boy, Super Man wanted to be home with me the first week and for my mom to come the second week. I really didn't care at that point as long as SOMEONE was there, because I needed help with literally EVERYTHING -- getting in and out of bed, sitting up, getting the baby, doing laundry, showering, and so on. The nurses warned me ad nauseum about not overdoing it with any activity, only doing the stairs two times a day, not lifting anything heavier than the baby, etc., and I really wanted to be a good patient and heal properly (as I'd known a few people who did NOT take it easy enough and ended up with opened incisions, infections, and I did NOT want to follow in their footsteps!), so I was happy to comply. Super Man was there and heard all the instructions and limitations, and I thought we were on the same page and that he understood that being home with me meant that I needed him to pretty much be at my beck and call for the week, anticipating my and the baby's needs and doing whatever was needed to make it physically easier for me.
Yeah. WRONG!
See, the week BEFORE Super Boy was born, Super Man decided it was finally time to tear off our garage roof and get to work on replacing it. We own a 115-year-old house, and our garage used to house two horses back in the day. It's a big, stucco structure and had a very old and very bad roof on it that had pretty much caved in, rendering our garage unusable for the first two years we lived in our house. Why Super Man felt that RIGHT BEFORE THE BABY CAME was the time to dive into that project, I'll never know, but alas, that was how it went down. Now, to his credit, he got the old roof entirely torn off and the mess cleared out by the time I had Super Boy, but the new roof was not on. Knowing Super Man as I do, I figured that the urge to work on it would be OVERPOWERING to him while home with me that week, so I struck a deal with him: I didn't care if he did work on the garage AS LONG AS he kept his cell phone on him at all times so I could call him from the house phone and tell him when I needed him to come in to help me with something. He agreed to my condition.
He did well with our arrangement. For about three hours.
Next thing I know, I'm trying to call him to help me out of bed so I could pee, only to realize that I could hear his cell phone ringing downstairs on the kitchen table, despite the fact that he was outside in the garage.
Can you say "pissed off"? And even that was an understatement! That was pretty much how our week went. Every time I tried to call him, I could hear his phone ringing on the first floor while he was blissfully working in peace out in the garage.
Needless to say, by the time his week was up and my mom came, I was already more mobile than I had wanted to or planned to be, sheerly out of necessity. My mom was alarmed when she realized how much I was already doing and insisted I take it easy during her week. It was like heaven, having her around that week. She literally did EVERYTHING and let me rest. I didn't want her to go home. Ever.
So, it was clearly an easy choice as to who to have stay with me for Week 1 this time around: MOM, hands down. That said, I'm hoping that with the whole shindig being planned this time around and me not being so physically battered by the time it's done, I will feel a lot better and able to do more sooner, which will be nice for my mom, too, considering that she is also 8 years older this time around than last. And then Super Man can have the "easier" Week 2, and hopefully it won't matter quite so much if he's oblivious to the fact that I need his help because his BlackBerry is indoors while he is outdoors. :)
But hey - I'm 20 weeks! I have been feeling some movements for the past couple of weeks, and they make my heart sing. I find myself eagerly awaiting the day when I feel regular movements all day long. I'd forgotten how much your brain monitors and waits on those movements once you begin to feel them, and how anxiety-inducing it can be when you realize you haven't felt anything in hours. And I really can't wait for the kicks to be tangible from the outside. Super Boy is going to LOVE feeling his little sister kick and tumble around in my belly, and I can't wait to see his face! He is constantly touching my belly, rubbing and patting it, and of course commenting on how enormous it is. I think he's afraid to see how much scarier my belly button is going to get in the NEXT 20 weeks, because it's already freaking us both out pretty good right now!
I have savored this experience, to the max. Even when I'm uncomfortable or constipated or just feeling physically exhausted and whale-like, I am so thankful to be in this moment. This is what I dreamed of and longed for all those years we tried for our second baby together, and to be living it at long last is just miraculous. I'm sure some of you are sick of me saying that by now, but truly, that's how I feel and I can't apologize for it. I know so many people who got pregnant without really having to put any effort into it, and I always wonder if they TRULY realize and appreciate just what a miracle it is when it happens and stays and results in a healthy baby being born at the end. I can't imagine not treating the experience as something sacred after all of this.
I hope everyone had a beautiful holiday season, and my very best wishes to all for a blessed Happy New Year!
With a grateful heart,
SW
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
18
Tomorrow I will be 18 weeks. :)
I definitely feel pregnant at this point.
My belly has burgeoned. Really. Super Boy tells me EVERY DAY that he cannot believe how HUGE my belly is. He rubs it, pats it, touches it, pokes it, and tells me how fat it is. :) He's getting a HUGE kick out of this, trust me! He still can't quite believe that he ever fit in there himself. Frankly, neither can I.
Due to the burgeoning belly, I can still wear some of my regular non-maternity shirts, sweatshirts and yoga/sweatpants, but otherwise it's all maternity wear at this point.
I have heartburn. Almost every night. And occasionally during the day, too. TUMS are my friends. And not the little piddly TUMS but the ultra-strength TUMS. Which is great because they have lots of calcium. And even greater because they bring me sweet relief.
And - best part - I can now feel the baby move! It's not a constant thing at this point, but I am starting to feel little rolls and nudges here and there. It is as amazing to me this time as it was with Super Boy all those years ago. I find myself eagerly anticipating the next nudge. And the next. And I can't wait until the rest of the family can feel them on the outside of my belly - I especially can't wait to see Super Boy's face the first time he feels his little sister kick.
Medically, things have been pretty quiet here. I haven't been to a doctor since my appointment with the genetic specialist for the ultrasound and CVS in November. I see my regular OB-GYN tomorrow afternoon for a regular check-up, but I don't think they will be doing anything else at that appointment, like other labs or anything. And then I'll be back to the genetic specialist on 12.30.10 at 20 weeks for the mid-pregnancy ultrasound, which they're doing primarily to check the brain & heart development to make sure things are still on track. That should be the last ultrasound, assuming everything checks out okay and I don't run into any other problems in the next 22 weeks. It will be weird not seeing her on ultrasond anymore after 20 weeks, given that I've seen her three times in just the past 18 weeks!
We're still talking about names. I won't share them here just yet, but I've had my favorite for years that I'm really pulling for, and then Super Boy has his favorite, and Super Man has one that he's partial to. Frankly, since Super Man has already gotten to name a girl once, I feel like this one ought to be my call, although of course I want him to like and agree with the name. He DOES like my favorite, but he's not 100% on it at this point. I really like the name Super Boy wants, too, so that's my #2 choice, and then the one Super Man likes is sort of my #3, although I'm really not as fond of that one as the other two. The middle name is still open, because it's largely dependent upon which first name we choose.
It's funny because I remember feeling like choosing a name for Super Boy was HUGE, and a huge responsibility for us to get right. We went into the hospital knowing his middle name for sure (my paternal grandfather's name), but we had four first names that we liked, and we decided to see what Super Boy looked like and which one seemed to suit his personality best before settling on one. Incidentally, the one we chose wasn't my first choice going in, but it is literally the perfect name for him -- he fits it to a T, and there's no way I could imagine him being anything other than that. I hope that we choose as well for our daughter.
I love being pregnant at the holidays. I loved it with Super Boy, and I love it now. There's something very special about this time of year under any circumstances, but experiencing it while carrying this long awaited child is something particularly magical. Just like the conception of baby Jesus was a miracle, so was our conception of this little girl, at least to us.
Best wishes for safe and blessed holidays to all!
SW
I definitely feel pregnant at this point.
My belly has burgeoned. Really. Super Boy tells me EVERY DAY that he cannot believe how HUGE my belly is. He rubs it, pats it, touches it, pokes it, and tells me how fat it is. :) He's getting a HUGE kick out of this, trust me! He still can't quite believe that he ever fit in there himself. Frankly, neither can I.
Due to the burgeoning belly, I can still wear some of my regular non-maternity shirts, sweatshirts and yoga/sweatpants, but otherwise it's all maternity wear at this point.
I have heartburn. Almost every night. And occasionally during the day, too. TUMS are my friends. And not the little piddly TUMS but the ultra-strength TUMS. Which is great because they have lots of calcium. And even greater because they bring me sweet relief.
And - best part - I can now feel the baby move! It's not a constant thing at this point, but I am starting to feel little rolls and nudges here and there. It is as amazing to me this time as it was with Super Boy all those years ago. I find myself eagerly anticipating the next nudge. And the next. And I can't wait until the rest of the family can feel them on the outside of my belly - I especially can't wait to see Super Boy's face the first time he feels his little sister kick.
Medically, things have been pretty quiet here. I haven't been to a doctor since my appointment with the genetic specialist for the ultrasound and CVS in November. I see my regular OB-GYN tomorrow afternoon for a regular check-up, but I don't think they will be doing anything else at that appointment, like other labs or anything. And then I'll be back to the genetic specialist on 12.30.10 at 20 weeks for the mid-pregnancy ultrasound, which they're doing primarily to check the brain & heart development to make sure things are still on track. That should be the last ultrasound, assuming everything checks out okay and I don't run into any other problems in the next 22 weeks. It will be weird not seeing her on ultrasond anymore after 20 weeks, given that I've seen her three times in just the past 18 weeks!
We're still talking about names. I won't share them here just yet, but I've had my favorite for years that I'm really pulling for, and then Super Boy has his favorite, and Super Man has one that he's partial to. Frankly, since Super Man has already gotten to name a girl once, I feel like this one ought to be my call, although of course I want him to like and agree with the name. He DOES like my favorite, but he's not 100% on it at this point. I really like the name Super Boy wants, too, so that's my #2 choice, and then the one Super Man likes is sort of my #3, although I'm really not as fond of that one as the other two. The middle name is still open, because it's largely dependent upon which first name we choose.
It's funny because I remember feeling like choosing a name for Super Boy was HUGE, and a huge responsibility for us to get right. We went into the hospital knowing his middle name for sure (my paternal grandfather's name), but we had four first names that we liked, and we decided to see what Super Boy looked like and which one seemed to suit his personality best before settling on one. Incidentally, the one we chose wasn't my first choice going in, but it is literally the perfect name for him -- he fits it to a T, and there's no way I could imagine him being anything other than that. I hope that we choose as well for our daughter.
I love being pregnant at the holidays. I loved it with Super Boy, and I love it now. There's something very special about this time of year under any circumstances, but experiencing it while carrying this long awaited child is something particularly magical. Just like the conception of baby Jesus was a miracle, so was our conception of this little girl, at least to us.
Best wishes for safe and blessed holidays to all!
SW
Thursday, December 2, 2010
16
We've made it to 16 weeks, hallelujah!
Can I just tell you how relieved and thrilled I am to be here? It's such a surreal thing, being pregnant again. I'm marveling in every single day of it, because I know this is the last time I'll experience it and I want to relish every single moment. I cherished the experience of being pregnant with Super Boy, too, but knowing this is the last time I will be here, after all we went through to get here, I want to burn every second of it deep into my soul. It is truly surreal.
After all the years of trying and failing to conceive, after the two failed IUI attempts and then the miscarriage, as the clock continued to tick and I continued to get older...
I've mentioned before that the only thing that kept me going through all of it was the gut-level belief that there WAS another child for us, somewhere, waiting. Still, as we went into our fourth IUI, I was forced to think about what I would do if, God forbid, we got to the end of our sixth IUI and I still wasn't pregnant. For the first time in years, I had started picturing our life without that final family member. It was like looking through a very cloudy, blurry window, picturing that outcome, and it hurt my heart to envision it, but I had to at least try to prepare myself for what I dreaded. Which isn't to say that our family as it is was inadequate or somehow unsatisfactory, because it wasn't and isn't. But it was the thought of giving up the family I always envisioned us having that made it hurt. To me, not having that last child join us would always be a loss, a dream that didn't come true.
Knowing that our dream IS coming true, that my last sweet baby is growing and thriving, getting ready to join us in May, makes me smile from the inside out. I am so unbelievably, inconceivably grateful, I can't even properly express it.
And there is nothing sweeter than when Super Boy puts his hands on my belly and rubs it, saying he can't believe his little sister is in there, that "we're" finally getting a baby. I dreamed of this for him as much as for us. He has wanted to be a big brother forever, and knowing that he will get his wish is incredible. My heart feels fuller than ever!
My hope for all who have struggled to have a baby is that your dreams will come true very soon, too. If I could wave a wand and make it happen for you, I would, in a heartbeat. All I can do is encourage you to keep believing it will happen, to envision your life with that baby, to paint a mental picture of it so vividly that it is impossible for it NOT to become reality. I am fervently praying for all of you that your miracle is just around the corner.
Until next time,
SW
Can I just tell you how relieved and thrilled I am to be here? It's such a surreal thing, being pregnant again. I'm marveling in every single day of it, because I know this is the last time I'll experience it and I want to relish every single moment. I cherished the experience of being pregnant with Super Boy, too, but knowing this is the last time I will be here, after all we went through to get here, I want to burn every second of it deep into my soul. It is truly surreal.
After all the years of trying and failing to conceive, after the two failed IUI attempts and then the miscarriage, as the clock continued to tick and I continued to get older...
I've mentioned before that the only thing that kept me going through all of it was the gut-level belief that there WAS another child for us, somewhere, waiting. Still, as we went into our fourth IUI, I was forced to think about what I would do if, God forbid, we got to the end of our sixth IUI and I still wasn't pregnant. For the first time in years, I had started picturing our life without that final family member. It was like looking through a very cloudy, blurry window, picturing that outcome, and it hurt my heart to envision it, but I had to at least try to prepare myself for what I dreaded. Which isn't to say that our family as it is was inadequate or somehow unsatisfactory, because it wasn't and isn't. But it was the thought of giving up the family I always envisioned us having that made it hurt. To me, not having that last child join us would always be a loss, a dream that didn't come true.
Knowing that our dream IS coming true, that my last sweet baby is growing and thriving, getting ready to join us in May, makes me smile from the inside out. I am so unbelievably, inconceivably grateful, I can't even properly express it.
And there is nothing sweeter than when Super Boy puts his hands on my belly and rubs it, saying he can't believe his little sister is in there, that "we're" finally getting a baby. I dreamed of this for him as much as for us. He has wanted to be a big brother forever, and knowing that he will get his wish is incredible. My heart feels fuller than ever!
My hope for all who have struggled to have a baby is that your dreams will come true very soon, too. If I could wave a wand and make it happen for you, I would, in a heartbeat. All I can do is encourage you to keep believing it will happen, to envision your life with that baby, to paint a mental picture of it so vividly that it is impossible for it NOT to become reality. I am fervently praying for all of you that your miracle is just around the corner.
Until next time,
SW
Sunday, November 21, 2010
a crazy week that ended well
We are at 14 weeks and 4 days - amen!
We had a bit of a rollercoaster week, though, and when I say that I'm not exaggerating it ONE BIT.
I wrote last time (at 13 weeks) about how we were anxiously anticipating our nuchal translucency screening ultrasound and blood test on Friday 11/12, which are used to check for obvious genetic/chromosomal problems and identify potential risks for those problems. As I mentioned in my last post, I had never had this particular combined test when I was pregnant with Super Boy. It was available then, but it was never offered to me, probably in part because I was only 28 at the time and my levels of risk were relatively low.
Now, back when I was expecting Super Boy, the only similar screening tests I had were the triple screen (now called the quad screen, as another protein was added for screening) and the alpha feto-protein (AFP) test, which are both used to screen for possible neural tube defects, Down syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. I remember my doctor warning me that the triple screen had a high false-positive rate, and to take whatever results came back with a grain of salt as a result. She assured me that IF there were any indication of a problem on that test result, she would do further testing (likely amniocentesis) to drill down to more solid evidence one way or the other. Fortunately, in that pregnancy, it was never an issue and my results were fine and I ended up giving birth to a healthy baby boy.
Apparently, however, the nuchal translucency ultrasound combined with the special blood test has only a 5% false positive rate, so any red flags raised by those tests are taken a bit more seriously by doctors, as I was soon to find out.
The day of the ultrasound, on 11/12, we were nervous but also excited to get another look at our baby. The ultrasound tech warned us in advance that a nuchal ultrasound tends to take longer because they have to get a really optimal view of the neck folds on the baby, which can take awhile because babies move so much at that point. She was right in our case! Our baby was all over the place, waving its arms & legs, rolling over and turning around. It was WONDERFUL to see, and was awesome for us to get so much time to watch him or her, but frustrating for the tech to say the least! Ultimately, she was able to see everything she needed to see, and according to her, all the measurements of the baby were right on for the gestational age, and she saw nothing of concern. We met with my doctor right afterward and she, too, said things looked great. We made the mistake of prematurely breathing a sigh of relief and assuming all was well, despite the fact that our blood test would not be back for a week.
Big mistake.
We were going about our lives, not thinking too much about the blood test results, thinking in our minds that our baby was just fine, that everything was going beautifully. On Wednesday 11/17, around lunchtime, I was in the midst of talking to my mom on the phone about how we'd had to have an electrician out that morning and were looking at having to do some MAJOR electrical work on our house when, out of the blue, my cell phone started ringing. I told my mom to hold on a second while I checked to see who it was. It was my doctor's office. Only it wasn't just the doctor's office calling -- it was the doctor herself.
As soon as I heard my doctor's voice, my intestines clenched and my heart stopped. I knew it couldn't be a good sign that she herself was calling me to discuss my results. I could hardly breathe as she said that my test results had come back. My risk for Trisomy 13 and 18 were normal, 1 in around 7,000, so that was good. But the test showed an elevated risk of Down syndrome. Normal for my age (36) is around 1 in 375; my results came back putting the risk at 1 in 49, which is only "normal" for a woman of 43-years-old.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't even know what to say. My doctor said it was "probably nothing to be concerned about, but" she wanted me to see a genetic specialist as soon as possible for a genetic ultrasound and possibly amnio or CVS (chorionic villus sampling). I was numb as she gave me the names and phone numbers of the specialists she recommended contacting. I thanked her for calling, somehow still managing to hold my shit together, and then she said, "Super Woman, like I said, it's PROBABLY nothing to worry about, so try to stay calm and relax, and let's just see what the genetic specialist finds. One in 49 means that 48 babies will be just fine - the odds are in your favor."
And, just like that, I started bawling.
My doctor kept talking to me while I calmed down, and then when I had a grip on myself again, she told me to call her back if I had any questions and to let her know who I was going to see for the ultrasound.
Long story short, we thankfully ended up getting in with one of her recommended specialists the very next day. I was beyond relieved -- the thought of facing several days or even a week of waiting for answers was simply intolerable. Still, not knowing what lay ahead of us the following day meant very little sleep that night, for me or Super Man. Thankfully, my mom came to be with us, knowing it would help calm me down and keep me from obsessing over the worst case scenario. And while I can't say it totally worked, I will admit that it helped.
Our appointment was on Thursday 11/18 at 12:30pm. We had been told it would be at least a 1.5 hour appointment, possibly longer, depending on whether we needed to have amnio or CVS. When the time came to drive to the specialist's office, we resolved to just get through it and hope for the best. Still, I was shaking like a leaf. Thankfully the doctor's office was just down the road from our house, 5 minutes away, so I wasn't a danger to myself or others driving over there.
The doctor, an older German man, was phenomenal. Excellent personality for working with someone like me (meaning someone who is a grade-A first-class chronic worrier). He took a thorough history of our family backgrounds, our health, my prior pregnancies and this pregnancy, and then talked to us about what was going to happen that day. He said that he focuses on four things in conducting genetic ultrasounds:
1.) the health of the pregnancy, meaning my uterus; the placenta; the amniotic fluid; my blood flow to the baby and placenta; and so forth;
2.) the health of the baby, meaning the actual baby itself and all of its measurements; the blood flow within the umbilical cord and the baby's body; the health, development and function of the baby's organs; the heart rate of the baby; and so forth;
3.) looking for indicators of birth defects, such as missing or extra digits on hands/feet, malformed body parts, etc.; and
4.) looking for signs of chromosomal disorders, like Down's, by checking the development and function of the heart and other organs, and checking the measurements of the baby for its gestational age.
He said that amnio or CVS may not be necessary if he could reasonably rule out the risk based on the ultrasound alone, but if it looked like one of those additional tests would be warranted, he would only do it if everything with the baby was ideal on ultrasound, because there is a slight risk of miscarriage with either of those more invasive tests. We could refuse them, but if solid answers were what we wanted, we had to be willing to accept the slight risk of miscarriage. We knew we were ready to accept that risk if necessary, because the alternative -- waiting in the dark for 6 months to find out after the baby was born -- was not something we felt we could endure.
The ultrasound took about an hour, but it was far more detailed than any ultrasound I've ever had before. Once again, our baby was moving around like crazy, very active, sucking its thumb and waving its hands and feet at us. Seeing that totally warmed our hearts, and my mom was amazed by how much could be seen given that I was just over 14 weeks pregnant and she'd never had even one ultrasound with me, my brother or my sister!
The doctor checked E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, from my reproductive organs to the top of the baby's head to the tips of its toes. He showed us where the baby's teensy-tiny kidneys and liver were, and looked closely at the chambers of the heart, the movement of blood in the baby's body, and even pointed out the tiny pearls of the baby's fingers, toes and joints. It was truly amazing.
The icing on the cake of the ultrasound was that the specialist was able to tell the baby's gender, which was something we had planned on having to wait to find out at my 18-week general anatomic ultrasound, which was scheduled for 12/15. I knew the baby's gender in my heart from the very beginning, but Super Man, Super Girl and Super Boy all thought it was the opposite, so I was really happy to hear that my gut instinct was right: this baby is a GIRL!! My mom and I both started crying at the happy news; Super Man's response? "Are you sure? Can you check that again?" :) In case you're wondering, he was sort of hoping for another boy! But he is of course thrilled to have another daughter.
Thankfully, the entire time the doctor was doing the ultrasound, he talked about what he was looking at, and all his comments were good -- everything was where it was supposed to be, doing what it was supposed to be doing, and as developed and appropriately sized as it was supposed to be at that point. Still, somehow, at the end of the ultrasound he told me that he could NOT say for sure that the baby did NOT have Down's. The ultrasound did not reveal any specific markers, but he couldn't confidently say for sure based solely on the ultrasound, so he recommended doing CVS. We asked why he wanted to do that versus amnio, and he said that the accuracy was virtually the same and we'd have the results the very next day, versus a week to wait for amnio results. We consented, and they prepped me and did the test right away.
I, of course, had no idea what to expect, having never been through a CVS before. I understood there would be a big, thin needle involved, the placement of which would be determined and guided by ultrasound, that they would be inserting that needle into the placenta through my abdomen, and that the purpose of the CVS was to take a tissue sample from the placenta, which shares the same genetic material as the baby itself. The doctor felt confident based on the placement of the baby and the placenta that he could do the test very safely without any impact on the baby, which put my mind at ease. He said it would pinch a little during the test, but it was a quick test and I would feel pretty much fine afterward.
He was right. It was a little uncomfortable when the sample was being extricated, but it was over within a few minutes. I had a little tenderness around the point of insertion, and have felt an occasional twinge here and there in the days since, but I have had no bleeding or spotting or fever or anything else (thank God). When we left, 2 hours after we arrived, we were told that we could call in at 4pm the following day, Friday 11/19, to get our results. This doctor handles it that way so that the patients are prepared and he's not calling anyone at a bad time to share potentially bad news. I was glad for that, but wished he'd said we'd have results by 10am instead of 4pm!
Needless to say, Thursday was another near sleepless night. I tried so hard to just focus on the wonderful ultrasound and the news that our baby girl appeared to be healthy and was measuring normal and all indicators were generally good, and focus less on the possibility that our baby might have Down's, but it was hard not to worry. Fortunately, we had Super Boy's parent-teacher conference at school Friday morning, and had a handful of errands to run that morning as well, so it helped to distract me, but the afternoon passed agonizingly slow.
Super Man had to go in to work that day, but planned to get home before 4pm. My mom had stayed with us, and my awesome Super Friend also offered to come and be with us for the call, so I had plenty of love and support around me, just in case. Unfortunately, Super Man ended up getting home a little late, but we were able to make the call by 4:15pm.
I could barely breathe waiting for them to answer. Once they did, they didn't keep us waiting. We were told immediately that the test results came back completely normal, that our baby was just fine, healthy and normal. I started crying with relief, and then the nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Super Man told her that the doctor had told us during the ultrasound that it was a girl, and she confirmed that the CVS showed that as well, so it was all good news on all fronts.
We were so relieved... honestly, I can't find the words to express the sheer measure of our relief. We had discussed the "what if," obviously, and we were both in agreement about our general feelings should that come to pass, but we just prayed that we wouldn't have anything to worry about when all was said and done. Because this is it -- there will be no more pregnancies for us, regardless of the outcome of this one. After going through my miscarriage in the spring, I knew that if we lost another one, I could not personally go through it all again, given all we had to do just to GET pregnant. So, for sure, the relief we felt hearing that our baby is doing beautifully and is normal and healthy was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
With all we've gone through, I know how lucky we are to be here, now, expecting this baby. I pray every single day for those couples who have struggled to get pregnant, for those who have suffered losses, for those who have reached the end of the road in their efforts to have a baby. It's not easy, any of it. There are no magic words to heal the hurt. I pray for peace for all.
With a grateful heart,
SW
We had a bit of a rollercoaster week, though, and when I say that I'm not exaggerating it ONE BIT.
I wrote last time (at 13 weeks) about how we were anxiously anticipating our nuchal translucency screening ultrasound and blood test on Friday 11/12, which are used to check for obvious genetic/chromosomal problems and identify potential risks for those problems. As I mentioned in my last post, I had never had this particular combined test when I was pregnant with Super Boy. It was available then, but it was never offered to me, probably in part because I was only 28 at the time and my levels of risk were relatively low.
Now, back when I was expecting Super Boy, the only similar screening tests I had were the triple screen (now called the quad screen, as another protein was added for screening) and the alpha feto-protein (AFP) test, which are both used to screen for possible neural tube defects, Down syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. I remember my doctor warning me that the triple screen had a high false-positive rate, and to take whatever results came back with a grain of salt as a result. She assured me that IF there were any indication of a problem on that test result, she would do further testing (likely amniocentesis) to drill down to more solid evidence one way or the other. Fortunately, in that pregnancy, it was never an issue and my results were fine and I ended up giving birth to a healthy baby boy.
Apparently, however, the nuchal translucency ultrasound combined with the special blood test has only a 5% false positive rate, so any red flags raised by those tests are taken a bit more seriously by doctors, as I was soon to find out.
The day of the ultrasound, on 11/12, we were nervous but also excited to get another look at our baby. The ultrasound tech warned us in advance that a nuchal ultrasound tends to take longer because they have to get a really optimal view of the neck folds on the baby, which can take awhile because babies move so much at that point. She was right in our case! Our baby was all over the place, waving its arms & legs, rolling over and turning around. It was WONDERFUL to see, and was awesome for us to get so much time to watch him or her, but frustrating for the tech to say the least! Ultimately, she was able to see everything she needed to see, and according to her, all the measurements of the baby were right on for the gestational age, and she saw nothing of concern. We met with my doctor right afterward and she, too, said things looked great. We made the mistake of prematurely breathing a sigh of relief and assuming all was well, despite the fact that our blood test would not be back for a week.
Big mistake.
We were going about our lives, not thinking too much about the blood test results, thinking in our minds that our baby was just fine, that everything was going beautifully. On Wednesday 11/17, around lunchtime, I was in the midst of talking to my mom on the phone about how we'd had to have an electrician out that morning and were looking at having to do some MAJOR electrical work on our house when, out of the blue, my cell phone started ringing. I told my mom to hold on a second while I checked to see who it was. It was my doctor's office. Only it wasn't just the doctor's office calling -- it was the doctor herself.
As soon as I heard my doctor's voice, my intestines clenched and my heart stopped. I knew it couldn't be a good sign that she herself was calling me to discuss my results. I could hardly breathe as she said that my test results had come back. My risk for Trisomy 13 and 18 were normal, 1 in around 7,000, so that was good. But the test showed an elevated risk of Down syndrome. Normal for my age (36) is around 1 in 375; my results came back putting the risk at 1 in 49, which is only "normal" for a woman of 43-years-old.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't even know what to say. My doctor said it was "probably nothing to be concerned about, but" she wanted me to see a genetic specialist as soon as possible for a genetic ultrasound and possibly amnio or CVS (chorionic villus sampling). I was numb as she gave me the names and phone numbers of the specialists she recommended contacting. I thanked her for calling, somehow still managing to hold my shit together, and then she said, "Super Woman, like I said, it's PROBABLY nothing to worry about, so try to stay calm and relax, and let's just see what the genetic specialist finds. One in 49 means that 48 babies will be just fine - the odds are in your favor."
And, just like that, I started bawling.
My doctor kept talking to me while I calmed down, and then when I had a grip on myself again, she told me to call her back if I had any questions and to let her know who I was going to see for the ultrasound.
Long story short, we thankfully ended up getting in with one of her recommended specialists the very next day. I was beyond relieved -- the thought of facing several days or even a week of waiting for answers was simply intolerable. Still, not knowing what lay ahead of us the following day meant very little sleep that night, for me or Super Man. Thankfully, my mom came to be with us, knowing it would help calm me down and keep me from obsessing over the worst case scenario. And while I can't say it totally worked, I will admit that it helped.
Our appointment was on Thursday 11/18 at 12:30pm. We had been told it would be at least a 1.5 hour appointment, possibly longer, depending on whether we needed to have amnio or CVS. When the time came to drive to the specialist's office, we resolved to just get through it and hope for the best. Still, I was shaking like a leaf. Thankfully the doctor's office was just down the road from our house, 5 minutes away, so I wasn't a danger to myself or others driving over there.
The doctor, an older German man, was phenomenal. Excellent personality for working with someone like me (meaning someone who is a grade-A first-class chronic worrier). He took a thorough history of our family backgrounds, our health, my prior pregnancies and this pregnancy, and then talked to us about what was going to happen that day. He said that he focuses on four things in conducting genetic ultrasounds:
1.) the health of the pregnancy, meaning my uterus; the placenta; the amniotic fluid; my blood flow to the baby and placenta; and so forth;
2.) the health of the baby, meaning the actual baby itself and all of its measurements; the blood flow within the umbilical cord and the baby's body; the health, development and function of the baby's organs; the heart rate of the baby; and so forth;
3.) looking for indicators of birth defects, such as missing or extra digits on hands/feet, malformed body parts, etc.; and
4.) looking for signs of chromosomal disorders, like Down's, by checking the development and function of the heart and other organs, and checking the measurements of the baby for its gestational age.
He said that amnio or CVS may not be necessary if he could reasonably rule out the risk based on the ultrasound alone, but if it looked like one of those additional tests would be warranted, he would only do it if everything with the baby was ideal on ultrasound, because there is a slight risk of miscarriage with either of those more invasive tests. We could refuse them, but if solid answers were what we wanted, we had to be willing to accept the slight risk of miscarriage. We knew we were ready to accept that risk if necessary, because the alternative -- waiting in the dark for 6 months to find out after the baby was born -- was not something we felt we could endure.
The ultrasound took about an hour, but it was far more detailed than any ultrasound I've ever had before. Once again, our baby was moving around like crazy, very active, sucking its thumb and waving its hands and feet at us. Seeing that totally warmed our hearts, and my mom was amazed by how much could be seen given that I was just over 14 weeks pregnant and she'd never had even one ultrasound with me, my brother or my sister!
The doctor checked E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, from my reproductive organs to the top of the baby's head to the tips of its toes. He showed us where the baby's teensy-tiny kidneys and liver were, and looked closely at the chambers of the heart, the movement of blood in the baby's body, and even pointed out the tiny pearls of the baby's fingers, toes and joints. It was truly amazing.
The icing on the cake of the ultrasound was that the specialist was able to tell the baby's gender, which was something we had planned on having to wait to find out at my 18-week general anatomic ultrasound, which was scheduled for 12/15. I knew the baby's gender in my heart from the very beginning, but Super Man, Super Girl and Super Boy all thought it was the opposite, so I was really happy to hear that my gut instinct was right: this baby is a GIRL!! My mom and I both started crying at the happy news; Super Man's response? "Are you sure? Can you check that again?" :) In case you're wondering, he was sort of hoping for another boy! But he is of course thrilled to have another daughter.
Thankfully, the entire time the doctor was doing the ultrasound, he talked about what he was looking at, and all his comments were good -- everything was where it was supposed to be, doing what it was supposed to be doing, and as developed and appropriately sized as it was supposed to be at that point. Still, somehow, at the end of the ultrasound he told me that he could NOT say for sure that the baby did NOT have Down's. The ultrasound did not reveal any specific markers, but he couldn't confidently say for sure based solely on the ultrasound, so he recommended doing CVS. We asked why he wanted to do that versus amnio, and he said that the accuracy was virtually the same and we'd have the results the very next day, versus a week to wait for amnio results. We consented, and they prepped me and did the test right away.
I, of course, had no idea what to expect, having never been through a CVS before. I understood there would be a big, thin needle involved, the placement of which would be determined and guided by ultrasound, that they would be inserting that needle into the placenta through my abdomen, and that the purpose of the CVS was to take a tissue sample from the placenta, which shares the same genetic material as the baby itself. The doctor felt confident based on the placement of the baby and the placenta that he could do the test very safely without any impact on the baby, which put my mind at ease. He said it would pinch a little during the test, but it was a quick test and I would feel pretty much fine afterward.
He was right. It was a little uncomfortable when the sample was being extricated, but it was over within a few minutes. I had a little tenderness around the point of insertion, and have felt an occasional twinge here and there in the days since, but I have had no bleeding or spotting or fever or anything else (thank God). When we left, 2 hours after we arrived, we were told that we could call in at 4pm the following day, Friday 11/19, to get our results. This doctor handles it that way so that the patients are prepared and he's not calling anyone at a bad time to share potentially bad news. I was glad for that, but wished he'd said we'd have results by 10am instead of 4pm!
Needless to say, Thursday was another near sleepless night. I tried so hard to just focus on the wonderful ultrasound and the news that our baby girl appeared to be healthy and was measuring normal and all indicators were generally good, and focus less on the possibility that our baby might have Down's, but it was hard not to worry. Fortunately, we had Super Boy's parent-teacher conference at school Friday morning, and had a handful of errands to run that morning as well, so it helped to distract me, but the afternoon passed agonizingly slow.
Super Man had to go in to work that day, but planned to get home before 4pm. My mom had stayed with us, and my awesome Super Friend also offered to come and be with us for the call, so I had plenty of love and support around me, just in case. Unfortunately, Super Man ended up getting home a little late, but we were able to make the call by 4:15pm.
I could barely breathe waiting for them to answer. Once they did, they didn't keep us waiting. We were told immediately that the test results came back completely normal, that our baby was just fine, healthy and normal. I started crying with relief, and then the nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Super Man told her that the doctor had told us during the ultrasound that it was a girl, and she confirmed that the CVS showed that as well, so it was all good news on all fronts.
We were so relieved... honestly, I can't find the words to express the sheer measure of our relief. We had discussed the "what if," obviously, and we were both in agreement about our general feelings should that come to pass, but we just prayed that we wouldn't have anything to worry about when all was said and done. Because this is it -- there will be no more pregnancies for us, regardless of the outcome of this one. After going through my miscarriage in the spring, I knew that if we lost another one, I could not personally go through it all again, given all we had to do just to GET pregnant. So, for sure, the relief we felt hearing that our baby is doing beautifully and is normal and healthy was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
With all we've gone through, I know how lucky we are to be here, now, expecting this baby. I pray every single day for those couples who have struggled to get pregnant, for those who have suffered losses, for those who have reached the end of the road in their efforts to have a baby. It's not easy, any of it. There are no magic words to heal the hurt. I pray for peace for all.
With a grateful heart,
SW
Thursday, November 11, 2010
thirteen
I am happy to report that I am now 13 weeks and 1 day pregnant. :)
Yes, it looks as though we all survived the first trimester intact, praise be to God! In fact, I ended up with a sinus infection last week and went in to my ob-gyn last Wednesday, when I was exactly 12 weeks, and while I was there having her listen to my lungs and write me a script for an antibiotic, I asked if I was far enough along to hear the heartbeat yet. The answer was yes. Which was great, because Super Boy happened to be with me, as I had just picked him up from school when the doctor's office called to say they could get me in to listen to my lungs.
So Dr. F got her little doppler thing-a-majig, put some jelly on my belly, and found Baby G2's heartbeat immediately. Hearing those 164 beats per minute was music to my ears, and resulted in my breathing just a little bit easier knowing that baby was still alive and well in my belly.
And watching Super Boy's face as Dr. F found the heartbeat was an extraordinary thing. :) His eyes got big and sparkly, a huge grin spread across his face, and he raised his eyebrows, asking, "Mom... is THAT the baby or you?" He was very excited to hear the heartbeat.
For about 30 seconds. :)
And then he was more curious about the jelly on my belly, and whether it was hot or cold, and if the doctor was going to wipe it off or leave it, etc.
Boys. :)
Anyhoo, last Wednesday was a beautiful day getting to hear the baby's heartbeat and have a little reassurance that things were okay. And now tomorrow Super Man and I will go in for the nuchal translucency ultrasound and Quad Screen blood tests. I'm a little nervous - after all, I'm not the spring chicken I was when I had Super Boy - but I have to hope that God will be merciful and spare this baby any genetic problems after all we've been through to conceive him or her. Dr. F will be meeting with us after the ultrasound so I'll know those results immediately, but we'll have to wait for the blood test results. Please keep us in your prayers that all turns out well.
Being at this point in the pregnancy is a lot of fun. My regular jeans/pants/skirts are almost too tight now but some of my under-belly maternity stuff is now fitting better, so my wardrobe shift is underway. And - holla! - my evening sickness has tapered off dramatically, so now I pretty much only feel sick if I wait too long to eat dinner. I can't tell you how glad I am to feel mostly nausea-free now! I'm sleeping better (but for my cough that won't go away), I'm not peeing every 6 seconds (although I expect that to resume as the baby continues to grow and tap dance on my bladder), and I am not nearly as exhausted during the day as I was a few weeks ago, so I'm being a bit more productive. I remember LOVING the second trimester with Super Boy, and I hope I will be able to revel in this second trimester, too.
We feel very blessed to be where we are right now, anticipating the arrival of our last child together, and we are so thankful that our prayers have been answered, at long last.
Our thoughts & prayers, however, also remain with those who are still struggling to achieve and/or sustain the pregnancies they so deeply desire. Keep hope. Keep faith. Miracles happen.
Yours,
SW
Yes, it looks as though we all survived the first trimester intact, praise be to God! In fact, I ended up with a sinus infection last week and went in to my ob-gyn last Wednesday, when I was exactly 12 weeks, and while I was there having her listen to my lungs and write me a script for an antibiotic, I asked if I was far enough along to hear the heartbeat yet. The answer was yes. Which was great, because Super Boy happened to be with me, as I had just picked him up from school when the doctor's office called to say they could get me in to listen to my lungs.
So Dr. F got her little doppler thing-a-majig, put some jelly on my belly, and found Baby G2's heartbeat immediately. Hearing those 164 beats per minute was music to my ears, and resulted in my breathing just a little bit easier knowing that baby was still alive and well in my belly.
And watching Super Boy's face as Dr. F found the heartbeat was an extraordinary thing. :) His eyes got big and sparkly, a huge grin spread across his face, and he raised his eyebrows, asking, "Mom... is THAT the baby or you?" He was very excited to hear the heartbeat.
For about 30 seconds. :)
And then he was more curious about the jelly on my belly, and whether it was hot or cold, and if the doctor was going to wipe it off or leave it, etc.
Boys. :)
Anyhoo, last Wednesday was a beautiful day getting to hear the baby's heartbeat and have a little reassurance that things were okay. And now tomorrow Super Man and I will go in for the nuchal translucency ultrasound and Quad Screen blood tests. I'm a little nervous - after all, I'm not the spring chicken I was when I had Super Boy - but I have to hope that God will be merciful and spare this baby any genetic problems after all we've been through to conceive him or her. Dr. F will be meeting with us after the ultrasound so I'll know those results immediately, but we'll have to wait for the blood test results. Please keep us in your prayers that all turns out well.
Being at this point in the pregnancy is a lot of fun. My regular jeans/pants/skirts are almost too tight now but some of my under-belly maternity stuff is now fitting better, so my wardrobe shift is underway. And - holla! - my evening sickness has tapered off dramatically, so now I pretty much only feel sick if I wait too long to eat dinner. I can't tell you how glad I am to feel mostly nausea-free now! I'm sleeping better (but for my cough that won't go away), I'm not peeing every 6 seconds (although I expect that to resume as the baby continues to grow and tap dance on my bladder), and I am not nearly as exhausted during the day as I was a few weeks ago, so I'm being a bit more productive. I remember LOVING the second trimester with Super Boy, and I hope I will be able to revel in this second trimester, too.
We feel very blessed to be where we are right now, anticipating the arrival of our last child together, and we are so thankful that our prayers have been answered, at long last.
Our thoughts & prayers, however, also remain with those who are still struggling to achieve and/or sustain the pregnancies they so deeply desire. Keep hope. Keep faith. Miracles happen.
Yours,
SW
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
where do babies come from?
I've got an interesting conundrum to work through as it pertains to my sweet little Super Boy. Here's the sitch...
Back when Super Man and I first started trying for a little sibling for Super Boy, Super Boy was not quite 3 years old yet, so we obviously didn't discuss the situation with him at that point. Of course, given that we tried and tried and TRIED for 4-1/2 years, and Super Boy was growing older that entire time and starting to vocalize his deep and burning desire for a little brother ("or sister, if that's what it HAS to be, Mom") as more and more of his friends became big brothers and sister, and asking why we didn't have another baby yet, and becoming more and more aware of my frequent doctor appointments and medications, I decided to talk to him a little about the situation so he would know that we also very much WANTED to give him a little brother (or sister) but things weren't working out the way they usually do.
I started out simple, starting when Super Boy was maybe 4 or 5, just telling him that we really wanted another baby, too, but we were having a hard time getting pregnant this time. He asked how long it took us to get pregnant with him; I told him it took us just 3 months. He asked what was wrong this time; I told him that we didn't know, and that our doctors were doing tests on both me and daddy trying to see if something wasn't working, but so far they weren't finding any problems. I also told him that sometimes as moms and dads get older, it's harder to have a baby.
When it came time to seek help from fertility specialists last fall, I explained to Super Boy that I was seeing a special doctor who was going to try to help us get a baby in my belly. He asked what they do, and I explained that I would have to take some special medicines and have some special tests done on certain days, and then when everything was just right, Dad & I would each go in to have a special procedure called IUI that would *hopefully* make a baby in my tummy.
Now, I should stop there and mention that Super Boy has gradually learned along the way that moms' bodies work in weird ways. For example, he knows that women have periods, because he had to accompany me into public restrooms for YEARS when he was younger and Super Man wasn't with us, and sometimes saw things we both would've rather he not seen! Rather than lie or not explain why Mommy had blood on her toilet paper and leave it to his imagination (which likely would've led to nightmares of Mommy bleeding to death), I explained to him that when a girl grows up, her body changes and becomes more womanly, and part of that means that her body gets ready to have babies someday, which includes having periods every month. I explained to him that when a woman has a period, it's only for a handful of days, and the bleeding is coming from her uterus, where babies grow, to keep it healthy and ready for a baby. Sometimes a woman will have some cramps with her period and feel tired or cranky, but for the most part it doesn't hurt and it's not a big deal. Once he knew what it was about, he was totally blase about it, and it was no longer a big deal to him.
So, when we began IUI for our secondary infertility, I explained to Super Boy that there were certain days in my cycle after my period when I'd have to take special medication to help my body get ready for a baby, and then we'd have that special procedure when my body was ready, and then if I DIDN'T get a period at the end of that month, that would mean it worked and there was a baby, but if I DID get a period, then it meant our IUI didn't work and there wasn't a baby in my tummy.
Super Boy also noticed that Daddy had a part in some of the things I had to do at the special doctor. I explained to him that in order to make a baby, there has to be an egg (which comes only from the mom's ovaries, inside her body by her uterus), and a sperm (which comes only from the dad's testicles/penis). So Dad had to give the doctors his sperm, and then the doctors washed out the weak or damaged sperm and only kept the best and strongest sperm, and then the special procedure was to inject Daddy's sperm right into my uterus, where my eggs would be waiting. And if it worked, the baby would grow in my uterus until it was ready to be born.
I should also mention here that Super Boy has always known that he had to come out of my belly in surgery, because he was so big I couldn't push him out. And, like most little kids, he was under the impression for awhile that moms POOP their babies out of their butts, but I explained to him that babies grow in their mom's uterus and then are usually pushed out of their vaginas. But with him, he was big and facing the wrong way in my belly, and he got stuck, so I had to have surgery to get him out. He has seen my C-section scar and knows that that's where he came from.
For the longest time, Super Boy never asked anything more about the process, and then when we had our last IUI in August, Super Boy had to go to the fertility specialist's office with me on the day I had IUI (all of my other IUIs had taken place during the school year and while Super Boy was actually AT school, so he'd never accompanied me to their office before).
On our way to my appointment, Super Boy asked if Dad had gone in earlier to give his sperm, and I said yes. Super Boy knows that Daddy hates needles, and he must've assumed that needles must be involved in getting the sperm out because he said, "I'll bet Dad doesn't like doing that because he doesn't like needles!"
I hemmed and hawed for a minute, and said, "Well, they don't actually use needles to get the sperm, baby."
Of course, his next question was, "Then how do they get it?"
While we had been fairly forthcoming with honest answers to his questions up to that point, I was reluctant to explain the process of masturbation to my sweet 7-year-old son, so I said, "You know what? We'll talk about that another time, ok?"
Being the smart and inquisitive little guy that he is, that answer didn't cut it with him. Still, I told him I had to think about how to answer it and promised him that I would eventually talk to him about it.
As I continued driving, I realized that we really DO need to explain the NORMAL process of how babies are made to him, as well as better explain the process WE had to go through this time, because I was loathe to think that my son would think that all this craziness we've gone through in the past year is the usual route to having a baby! So I said to him, "Honey, pretty soon I will have a talk with you about how babies are USUALLY made, so you don't think that all of this that Dad & I have had to go through is normal, ok?"
Super Boy surprised me by saying, "Oh, Mom, I already KNOW how babies are made most of the time."
...{crickets chirping in the background as my jaw hits the steering wheel}...
"Um... you do?" I asked, hesitantly.
"Yes - of course I know!" he answered smugly.
"Okay... so tell me," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Well, moms and dads have to hug and kiss a lot. And then the sperm swims through the dad's mouth into the mom's mouth and into her belly, and that's how a baby is made," he said, rolling his eyes like I was an idiot for not knowing this.
Squelching my laughter, I realized that we REALLY needed to set that record straight at some point!
So I talked to Super Man about it and shared my concerns with him. He is nowhere near as open or comfortable talking about all of this as I am (even with other adults!), and he's inclined to think that kids don't need to know how babies are REALLY made at Super Boy's age. But I disagree. I think it has to be easier to discuss it with them at an age like this, when they ARE old enough to ask questions and want information but AREN'T yet old enough to be mortified with embarrassment at having the SEX talk with their parents because they're not mentally picturing the whole scenario. And the fact that I've always talked about bodies openly and used proper terminology for parts, and I've always answered his questions honestly and as age-appropriately as possible, has set the stage for Super Boy to not feel self-conscious having conversations with me.
Still, I didn't want to rush a conversation that Super Boy might NOT be ready for. And then I ran across a GREAT reminder of how to have the "where do babies come from" conversation with children, in the form of this book: "Where Did I Come From?" by Peter Mayle and Arthur Robins. I ordered it and it arrived in today's mail.
Now, I remember reading this book when I was a child -- but not because my parents got it for me or would even DREAM of getting it for me! One of my friends had very laid-back hippie parents who were totally open with her and her brother about where babies come from (and everything else), and she had this book. Whenever I would play or sleepover at her house, I was drawn to the book like a moth to a flame, because I'd never seen or heard ANY of that before, and I found it fascinating. I was maybe 8 at the time, and I remember it making me vaguely sick to my stomach, but at the same time, I was really relieved to finally have the information that had been such a mystery up to that point.
I want Super Man to read it before I share it with Super Boy, but I think it does a pretty good job of explaining the parts and mechanics of the whole thing in a straightforward and not too gross or graphic manner. Super Boy already knows about the parts, but he clearly lacks the understanding of what goes where and how A (the sperm) gets to B (the egg) to create C (a baby) under NORMAL circumstances!
I'm curious: How have YOU talked to your other children about this subject? What resources (if any) did you refer to with them? And how did your kids respond?
Before I sign off, I wanted to share another funny story involving this subject, Super Boy and our baby-to-be. A few weeks ago, Super Boy and I were in the car and, totally out of the blue, Super Boy says, "Hey, Mom? Can I be there when you have the baby?"
Me: Do you mean can you be at the hospital when I have the baby or can you be in the room with me?
SB: Can I be in the room with you?
Me {pausing}: Well... If I have another C-section, only Dad and the doctor & nurses will be allowed in the room. But even if I try to have the baby the normal way, I'm not sure if the hospital would LET you be in the room with us because you're so young. And even if they did... honey, you probably don't want to see all that. It's messy and Mom and Dad will be pretty preoccupied trying to get the baby out.
SB: Is there a lot of blood and stuff?
Me: Yes, blood and other stuff. And the baby won't look very good when it first comes out either, before they have clean it up and cut its umbilical cord and all that. {pause} Baby, why do you want to be there?
SB {pausing to think of how to say it}: Well, I just want to see if the baby, like, POPS out or if it SLIDES out.
I LOVE the way kids think. :)
Yours,
SW
Back when Super Man and I first started trying for a little sibling for Super Boy, Super Boy was not quite 3 years old yet, so we obviously didn't discuss the situation with him at that point. Of course, given that we tried and tried and TRIED for 4-1/2 years, and Super Boy was growing older that entire time and starting to vocalize his deep and burning desire for a little brother ("or sister, if that's what it HAS to be, Mom") as more and more of his friends became big brothers and sister, and asking why we didn't have another baby yet, and becoming more and more aware of my frequent doctor appointments and medications, I decided to talk to him a little about the situation so he would know that we also very much WANTED to give him a little brother (or sister) but things weren't working out the way they usually do.
I started out simple, starting when Super Boy was maybe 4 or 5, just telling him that we really wanted another baby, too, but we were having a hard time getting pregnant this time. He asked how long it took us to get pregnant with him; I told him it took us just 3 months. He asked what was wrong this time; I told him that we didn't know, and that our doctors were doing tests on both me and daddy trying to see if something wasn't working, but so far they weren't finding any problems. I also told him that sometimes as moms and dads get older, it's harder to have a baby.
When it came time to seek help from fertility specialists last fall, I explained to Super Boy that I was seeing a special doctor who was going to try to help us get a baby in my belly. He asked what they do, and I explained that I would have to take some special medicines and have some special tests done on certain days, and then when everything was just right, Dad & I would each go in to have a special procedure called IUI that would *hopefully* make a baby in my tummy.
Now, I should stop there and mention that Super Boy has gradually learned along the way that moms' bodies work in weird ways. For example, he knows that women have periods, because he had to accompany me into public restrooms for YEARS when he was younger and Super Man wasn't with us, and sometimes saw things we both would've rather he not seen! Rather than lie or not explain why Mommy had blood on her toilet paper and leave it to his imagination (which likely would've led to nightmares of Mommy bleeding to death), I explained to him that when a girl grows up, her body changes and becomes more womanly, and part of that means that her body gets ready to have babies someday, which includes having periods every month. I explained to him that when a woman has a period, it's only for a handful of days, and the bleeding is coming from her uterus, where babies grow, to keep it healthy and ready for a baby. Sometimes a woman will have some cramps with her period and feel tired or cranky, but for the most part it doesn't hurt and it's not a big deal. Once he knew what it was about, he was totally blase about it, and it was no longer a big deal to him.
So, when we began IUI for our secondary infertility, I explained to Super Boy that there were certain days in my cycle after my period when I'd have to take special medication to help my body get ready for a baby, and then we'd have that special procedure when my body was ready, and then if I DIDN'T get a period at the end of that month, that would mean it worked and there was a baby, but if I DID get a period, then it meant our IUI didn't work and there wasn't a baby in my tummy.
Super Boy also noticed that Daddy had a part in some of the things I had to do at the special doctor. I explained to him that in order to make a baby, there has to be an egg (which comes only from the mom's ovaries, inside her body by her uterus), and a sperm (which comes only from the dad's testicles/penis). So Dad had to give the doctors his sperm, and then the doctors washed out the weak or damaged sperm and only kept the best and strongest sperm, and then the special procedure was to inject Daddy's sperm right into my uterus, where my eggs would be waiting. And if it worked, the baby would grow in my uterus until it was ready to be born.
I should also mention here that Super Boy has always known that he had to come out of my belly in surgery, because he was so big I couldn't push him out. And, like most little kids, he was under the impression for awhile that moms POOP their babies out of their butts, but I explained to him that babies grow in their mom's uterus and then are usually pushed out of their vaginas. But with him, he was big and facing the wrong way in my belly, and he got stuck, so I had to have surgery to get him out. He has seen my C-section scar and knows that that's where he came from.
For the longest time, Super Boy never asked anything more about the process, and then when we had our last IUI in August, Super Boy had to go to the fertility specialist's office with me on the day I had IUI (all of my other IUIs had taken place during the school year and while Super Boy was actually AT school, so he'd never accompanied me to their office before).
On our way to my appointment, Super Boy asked if Dad had gone in earlier to give his sperm, and I said yes. Super Boy knows that Daddy hates needles, and he must've assumed that needles must be involved in getting the sperm out because he said, "I'll bet Dad doesn't like doing that because he doesn't like needles!"
I hemmed and hawed for a minute, and said, "Well, they don't actually use needles to get the sperm, baby."
Of course, his next question was, "Then how do they get it?"
While we had been fairly forthcoming with honest answers to his questions up to that point, I was reluctant to explain the process of masturbation to my sweet 7-year-old son, so I said, "You know what? We'll talk about that another time, ok?"
Being the smart and inquisitive little guy that he is, that answer didn't cut it with him. Still, I told him I had to think about how to answer it and promised him that I would eventually talk to him about it.
As I continued driving, I realized that we really DO need to explain the NORMAL process of how babies are made to him, as well as better explain the process WE had to go through this time, because I was loathe to think that my son would think that all this craziness we've gone through in the past year is the usual route to having a baby! So I said to him, "Honey, pretty soon I will have a talk with you about how babies are USUALLY made, so you don't think that all of this that Dad & I have had to go through is normal, ok?"
Super Boy surprised me by saying, "Oh, Mom, I already KNOW how babies are made most of the time."
...{crickets chirping in the background as my jaw hits the steering wheel}...
"Um... you do?" I asked, hesitantly.
"Yes - of course I know!" he answered smugly.
"Okay... so tell me," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Well, moms and dads have to hug and kiss a lot. And then the sperm swims through the dad's mouth into the mom's mouth and into her belly, and that's how a baby is made," he said, rolling his eyes like I was an idiot for not knowing this.
Squelching my laughter, I realized that we REALLY needed to set that record straight at some point!
So I talked to Super Man about it and shared my concerns with him. He is nowhere near as open or comfortable talking about all of this as I am (even with other adults!), and he's inclined to think that kids don't need to know how babies are REALLY made at Super Boy's age. But I disagree. I think it has to be easier to discuss it with them at an age like this, when they ARE old enough to ask questions and want information but AREN'T yet old enough to be mortified with embarrassment at having the SEX talk with their parents because they're not mentally picturing the whole scenario. And the fact that I've always talked about bodies openly and used proper terminology for parts, and I've always answered his questions honestly and as age-appropriately as possible, has set the stage for Super Boy to not feel self-conscious having conversations with me.
Still, I didn't want to rush a conversation that Super Boy might NOT be ready for. And then I ran across a GREAT reminder of how to have the "where do babies come from" conversation with children, in the form of this book: "Where Did I Come From?" by Peter Mayle and Arthur Robins. I ordered it and it arrived in today's mail.
Now, I remember reading this book when I was a child -- but not because my parents got it for me or would even DREAM of getting it for me! One of my friends had very laid-back hippie parents who were totally open with her and her brother about where babies come from (and everything else), and she had this book. Whenever I would play or sleepover at her house, I was drawn to the book like a moth to a flame, because I'd never seen or heard ANY of that before, and I found it fascinating. I was maybe 8 at the time, and I remember it making me vaguely sick to my stomach, but at the same time, I was really relieved to finally have the information that had been such a mystery up to that point.
I want Super Man to read it before I share it with Super Boy, but I think it does a pretty good job of explaining the parts and mechanics of the whole thing in a straightforward and not too gross or graphic manner. Super Boy already knows about the parts, but he clearly lacks the understanding of what goes where and how A (the sperm) gets to B (the egg) to create C (a baby) under NORMAL circumstances!
I'm curious: How have YOU talked to your other children about this subject? What resources (if any) did you refer to with them? And how did your kids respond?
Before I sign off, I wanted to share another funny story involving this subject, Super Boy and our baby-to-be. A few weeks ago, Super Boy and I were in the car and, totally out of the blue, Super Boy says, "Hey, Mom? Can I be there when you have the baby?"
Me: Do you mean can you be at the hospital when I have the baby or can you be in the room with me?
SB: Can I be in the room with you?
Me {pausing}: Well... If I have another C-section, only Dad and the doctor & nurses will be allowed in the room. But even if I try to have the baby the normal way, I'm not sure if the hospital would LET you be in the room with us because you're so young. And even if they did... honey, you probably don't want to see all that. It's messy and Mom and Dad will be pretty preoccupied trying to get the baby out.
SB: Is there a lot of blood and stuff?
Me: Yes, blood and other stuff. And the baby won't look very good when it first comes out either, before they have clean it up and cut its umbilical cord and all that. {pause} Baby, why do you want to be there?
SB {pausing to think of how to say it}: Well, I just want to see if the baby, like, POPS out or if it SLIDES out.
I LOVE the way kids think. :)
Yours,
SW
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
worrywart
I'll be 11 weeks pregnant tomorrow. :)
Every week that pushes me closer to the end of the first trimester helps me breathe just a little bit easier, but I still feel like tragedy is going to strike and take this baby away from me like it did the last. I know how morbid that seems, and yet, I can't seem to shake it.
Yes, everything about this pregnancy has been different - and BETTER - than the pregnancy I lost in the spring. In my head, I know that and I know things are PROBABLY okay. But without being able to peek at this little one every time I feel like something is going wrong, I worry.
The past two days, I haven't been as tired. My breasts haven't been as tender or felt as swollen. I haven't felt as nauseated. I've had occasional, mild... twinges in my abdomen. No cramping, no bleeding - just twinges. I can't help but think that maybe something has gone wrong.
Then again, it could just be that I'm getting close to the end of the first trimester, and my hCG is finally leveled off or starting to drop as the placenta takes over, and THAT might be why my body feels a little more... normal.
I just don't know. And I won't know until I get to my ultrasound appointment in 2-1/2 weeks.
In case it hasn't become obvious to anyone who has read either of my blogs for any length of time, I HATE waiting. Patience is not a virtue I possess, as ashamed as I am for it. I think I've finally figured out that the reason patience is so hard for me is because I'm a first-rate, four-star, natural-born worrywart. I can worry circles around others. I'm a pro at it. I don't LIKE that I worry so much, about EVERYTHING, but alas, there it is. I've been this way for as long as I can remember, and I have every reason to think I will continue to be this way until death doth me and my horrible worrying tendencies part. It sucks.
I find myself searching for signs of bleeding twice as often this week. Being afraid to lift even baskets of laundry, just in case things have become tenuous in the recesses of my womb. I even briefly considered calling my OB to see if she could do another ultrasound today, just to be sure. But even I realize how alarmist that is when I have one coming up in a mere 17 days and I'm not even cramping or bleeding.
It's frustrating. I'm at the point now where my regular pants just aren't cutting it but all my old maternity pants are ENORMOUS on me at this point, so I was going to go buy a pair of more modern under-belly maternity jeans this week to get me through the next couple of weeks. But I'm so paranoid that something is wrong that I'm reluctant to go spend money on a pair of jeans I might not end up needing. How pathetic is that?
I keep trying to distract myself. I've been cleaning my house like a mad woman, dusting things I haven't touched in ages, reorganizing the stuff on the bookshelves in the living room, etc. It helps keep my mind off my worries about this baby.
It's days like this when I wish I was one of those women whose feathers get ruffled by NOTHING. From my lips to God's ears...
Fretfully yours,
SW
Every week that pushes me closer to the end of the first trimester helps me breathe just a little bit easier, but I still feel like tragedy is going to strike and take this baby away from me like it did the last. I know how morbid that seems, and yet, I can't seem to shake it.
Yes, everything about this pregnancy has been different - and BETTER - than the pregnancy I lost in the spring. In my head, I know that and I know things are PROBABLY okay. But without being able to peek at this little one every time I feel like something is going wrong, I worry.
The past two days, I haven't been as tired. My breasts haven't been as tender or felt as swollen. I haven't felt as nauseated. I've had occasional, mild... twinges in my abdomen. No cramping, no bleeding - just twinges. I can't help but think that maybe something has gone wrong.
Then again, it could just be that I'm getting close to the end of the first trimester, and my hCG is finally leveled off or starting to drop as the placenta takes over, and THAT might be why my body feels a little more... normal.
I just don't know. And I won't know until I get to my ultrasound appointment in 2-1/2 weeks.
In case it hasn't become obvious to anyone who has read either of my blogs for any length of time, I HATE waiting. Patience is not a virtue I possess, as ashamed as I am for it. I think I've finally figured out that the reason patience is so hard for me is because I'm a first-rate, four-star, natural-born worrywart. I can worry circles around others. I'm a pro at it. I don't LIKE that I worry so much, about EVERYTHING, but alas, there it is. I've been this way for as long as I can remember, and I have every reason to think I will continue to be this way until death doth me and my horrible worrying tendencies part. It sucks.
I find myself searching for signs of bleeding twice as often this week. Being afraid to lift even baskets of laundry, just in case things have become tenuous in the recesses of my womb. I even briefly considered calling my OB to see if she could do another ultrasound today, just to be sure. But even I realize how alarmist that is when I have one coming up in a mere 17 days and I'm not even cramping or bleeding.
It's frustrating. I'm at the point now where my regular pants just aren't cutting it but all my old maternity pants are ENORMOUS on me at this point, so I was going to go buy a pair of more modern under-belly maternity jeans this week to get me through the next couple of weeks. But I'm so paranoid that something is wrong that I'm reluctant to go spend money on a pair of jeans I might not end up needing. How pathetic is that?
I keep trying to distract myself. I've been cleaning my house like a mad woman, dusting things I haven't touched in ages, reorganizing the stuff on the bookshelves in the living room, etc. It helps keep my mind off my worries about this baby.
It's days like this when I wish I was one of those women whose feathers get ruffled by NOTHING. From my lips to God's ears...
Fretfully yours,
SW
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
10 weeks
I will be 10 weeks pregnant tomorrow and I still can't quite believe it!
I haven't been this pregnant in 8 years. Literally. And after losing the last one by 7 weeks, I wasn't sure I'd ever BE this pregnant again. Still, until I'm out of the first trimester, I won't be complacent that all is well.
I FEEL pregnant. I'm exhausted, bordering on narcoleptic at times, and my body feels foreign to me. My belly is already expanding, either due to the growing baby or the constant bloated feeling. I'm just about to that in-between stage with my pants, and I'm dreading that point because it'll be too late for my usual jeans, but still WAY too early for maternity jeans. I bought a Belly Band to help extend the time I can wear my regular jeans, and I hope that works well enough to get me through to the point where I can wear maternity jeans and not look ridiculous.
I've had "morning" sickness - if you can call it that, considering that it hits me hardest in the late afternoons & evenings - for weeks. I thought I'd read somewhere that hCG levels peak around 8 weeks gestation, and it's the hCG that causes women to feel nauseous in early pregnancy, so I had it in my head that week 8 might be the hardest and then I'd start to feel better. I'm here to report that that theory hasn't proven true. If anything, I've felt worse the past 2-3 weeks. But I'm THRILLED to say that I haven't had any vomiting -- just nagging nausea. Sometimes I can get it to subside by eating just the right thing when I first start to feel green around the gills, but other times it's just a matter of gritting my teeth and getting through the evening by keeping as still as I can. I'm eyeballing weeks 12-13 in my calendar and praying that this all subsides by then so I can finally just ENJOY being pregnant.
About that... I'm nervous. When I was pregnant with Super Boy eight years ago, I had issues with morning sickness then, too, but once it was behind me (by around 14 weeks) I felt FABULOUS and LOVED being pregnant. I reveled in my growing belly, enjoyed the energy and excitement of the second trimester and early third trimester, and really felt quite good right up to the last 2 weeks or so of that pregnancy. But I was 28 and 29 years old then; I'm 36 going on 37 now. Will it be as enjoyable given that my body is older? Will I be more uncomfortable this time? I'm praying that this experience will closely mirror my last pregnancy. I want to enjoy this, particularly because this WILL be my last pregnancy.
I find myself wishing that I could peek at this baby via ultrasound like every 48 hours, just to reassure myself that he/she is still there, still growing, still okay. Seeing the baby at my 7-week ultrasound a few weeks ago was great, but so much can happen from one week to the next, especially in the first trimester. As morbid as this sounds, I still find myself cautiously peeking in my panties for any signs of bleeding every time I use the bathroom, and breathing a huge sigh of relief when the coast is clear. I worry over every pain and twinge, even though I know some amount of that is normal due to ligaments and such stretching to accommodate the growing baby. You forget all that after so many years though.
Interestingly enough, with Super Boy, both Super Man and I and most of our family members all felt that the baby was a boy, and that was unequivocally confirmed at my mid-term ultrasound when Super Boy kept flashing his junk but refused to show his face! The Chinese birth predictor charts also showed that Super Boy was going to be a boy, based on my age and when I conceived.
This time, despite the fact that the Chinese birth predictor says BOY, I am convinced the baby is a girl, as are my mom and several of my girlfriends. But Super Man, Super Boy and Super Girl all think it's another boy. I feel obligated to mention that my mom just really wants a baby granddaughter, so I think that's made her biased, and the girlfriends who think this baby is a girl all have boys themselves, so I think it might be wishful thinking! :)
I will be overjoyed regardless of whether this baby is a boy or a girl, but I will admit that I've always wanted a daughter of my own. As much as I love Super Girl, she already has a mother-daughter relationship with her own mom, and while we're fairly close, our relationship just isn't like that. With as close as my mom and I are, I have always wanted to have that with a daughter of my own. I've pictured what my daughter will look like, what she will be like, and I pray that was all foreshadowing and not just wishful thinking on my part.
One thing that has been especially fun has been looking at all the new things that have come out for babies since I last had one. The clothes seem more cute and stylish, and the gadgets and gear are so much more attractive and streamlined. We saved a bunch of the stuff we had bought or received brand-new when we had Super Boy, but we got rid of some other things that were just taking up too much room in our basement. I think many of the things we got rid of were things we found we really didn't use that much or things that are cheap to replace, so that's at least a bonus.
The one thing I made sure to save because they were expensive were Super Boy's car seats -- his infant car seat/carrier and the one we used after he outgrew that, until he was big enough for his booster. We bought a beautiful Peg Perego infant car seat/carrier & stroller system before having Super Boy, and a gorgeous Britax convertible car seat that Super Boy used after he outgrew his infant carrier -- but unfortunately BOTH are now expired. I was incredibly frustrated to realize that!
The Peg Perego system was like $300 or $350 when we bought it, and I really don't want to have to buy a new infant seat PLUS a new convertible seat for when the baby outgrows it. So instead, now I'm thinking I will keep the old Peg Perego infant seat and use it solely as a baby carrier and with the stroller, but just get a new Britax convertible car seat that can go from birth to 55 or 70 lbs for the car. It was great to have the infant car seat/carrier when I had Super Boy because I was working full-time and had to shuttle him in and out of daycare, usually in a great rush and with a jam-packed diaper bag, purse and briefcase in tow, so having the convenience of the portable car seat/baby carrier then was great. But now that I'm a stay-at-home mom, and I plan to BE home until this baby is at least a year old, it's not that big a deal to have to take a few extra minutes to put the baby in and take the baby out of a stationary seat that stays in the car. I still have the Baby Bjorn I had for Super Boy, and I think that might be easiest to tote the baby around when we're out and about.
So many things to think about... but so much fun!
For all of you who are still struggling to have another child, hold onto your hope, keep faith, and believe in miracles. They do happen sometimes - and the next one might be yours.
Love and baby dust,
SW
I haven't been this pregnant in 8 years. Literally. And after losing the last one by 7 weeks, I wasn't sure I'd ever BE this pregnant again. Still, until I'm out of the first trimester, I won't be complacent that all is well.
I FEEL pregnant. I'm exhausted, bordering on narcoleptic at times, and my body feels foreign to me. My belly is already expanding, either due to the growing baby or the constant bloated feeling. I'm just about to that in-between stage with my pants, and I'm dreading that point because it'll be too late for my usual jeans, but still WAY too early for maternity jeans. I bought a Belly Band to help extend the time I can wear my regular jeans, and I hope that works well enough to get me through to the point where I can wear maternity jeans and not look ridiculous.
I've had "morning" sickness - if you can call it that, considering that it hits me hardest in the late afternoons & evenings - for weeks. I thought I'd read somewhere that hCG levels peak around 8 weeks gestation, and it's the hCG that causes women to feel nauseous in early pregnancy, so I had it in my head that week 8 might be the hardest and then I'd start to feel better. I'm here to report that that theory hasn't proven true. If anything, I've felt worse the past 2-3 weeks. But I'm THRILLED to say that I haven't had any vomiting -- just nagging nausea. Sometimes I can get it to subside by eating just the right thing when I first start to feel green around the gills, but other times it's just a matter of gritting my teeth and getting through the evening by keeping as still as I can. I'm eyeballing weeks 12-13 in my calendar and praying that this all subsides by then so I can finally just ENJOY being pregnant.
About that... I'm nervous. When I was pregnant with Super Boy eight years ago, I had issues with morning sickness then, too, but once it was behind me (by around 14 weeks) I felt FABULOUS and LOVED being pregnant. I reveled in my growing belly, enjoyed the energy and excitement of the second trimester and early third trimester, and really felt quite good right up to the last 2 weeks or so of that pregnancy. But I was 28 and 29 years old then; I'm 36 going on 37 now. Will it be as enjoyable given that my body is older? Will I be more uncomfortable this time? I'm praying that this experience will closely mirror my last pregnancy. I want to enjoy this, particularly because this WILL be my last pregnancy.
I find myself wishing that I could peek at this baby via ultrasound like every 48 hours, just to reassure myself that he/she is still there, still growing, still okay. Seeing the baby at my 7-week ultrasound a few weeks ago was great, but so much can happen from one week to the next, especially in the first trimester. As morbid as this sounds, I still find myself cautiously peeking in my panties for any signs of bleeding every time I use the bathroom, and breathing a huge sigh of relief when the coast is clear. I worry over every pain and twinge, even though I know some amount of that is normal due to ligaments and such stretching to accommodate the growing baby. You forget all that after so many years though.
Interestingly enough, with Super Boy, both Super Man and I and most of our family members all felt that the baby was a boy, and that was unequivocally confirmed at my mid-term ultrasound when Super Boy kept flashing his junk but refused to show his face! The Chinese birth predictor charts also showed that Super Boy was going to be a boy, based on my age and when I conceived.
This time, despite the fact that the Chinese birth predictor says BOY, I am convinced the baby is a girl, as are my mom and several of my girlfriends. But Super Man, Super Boy and Super Girl all think it's another boy. I feel obligated to mention that my mom just really wants a baby granddaughter, so I think that's made her biased, and the girlfriends who think this baby is a girl all have boys themselves, so I think it might be wishful thinking! :)
I will be overjoyed regardless of whether this baby is a boy or a girl, but I will admit that I've always wanted a daughter of my own. As much as I love Super Girl, she already has a mother-daughter relationship with her own mom, and while we're fairly close, our relationship just isn't like that. With as close as my mom and I are, I have always wanted to have that with a daughter of my own. I've pictured what my daughter will look like, what she will be like, and I pray that was all foreshadowing and not just wishful thinking on my part.
One thing that has been especially fun has been looking at all the new things that have come out for babies since I last had one. The clothes seem more cute and stylish, and the gadgets and gear are so much more attractive and streamlined. We saved a bunch of the stuff we had bought or received brand-new when we had Super Boy, but we got rid of some other things that were just taking up too much room in our basement. I think many of the things we got rid of were things we found we really didn't use that much or things that are cheap to replace, so that's at least a bonus.
The one thing I made sure to save because they were expensive were Super Boy's car seats -- his infant car seat/carrier and the one we used after he outgrew that, until he was big enough for his booster. We bought a beautiful Peg Perego infant car seat/carrier & stroller system before having Super Boy, and a gorgeous Britax convertible car seat that Super Boy used after he outgrew his infant carrier -- but unfortunately BOTH are now expired. I was incredibly frustrated to realize that!
The Peg Perego system was like $300 or $350 when we bought it, and I really don't want to have to buy a new infant seat PLUS a new convertible seat for when the baby outgrows it. So instead, now I'm thinking I will keep the old Peg Perego infant seat and use it solely as a baby carrier and with the stroller, but just get a new Britax convertible car seat that can go from birth to 55 or 70 lbs for the car. It was great to have the infant car seat/carrier when I had Super Boy because I was working full-time and had to shuttle him in and out of daycare, usually in a great rush and with a jam-packed diaper bag, purse and briefcase in tow, so having the convenience of the portable car seat/baby carrier then was great. But now that I'm a stay-at-home mom, and I plan to BE home until this baby is at least a year old, it's not that big a deal to have to take a few extra minutes to put the baby in and take the baby out of a stationary seat that stays in the car. I still have the Baby Bjorn I had for Super Boy, and I think that might be easiest to tote the baby around when we're out and about.
So many things to think about... but so much fun!
For all of you who are still struggling to have another child, hold onto your hope, keep faith, and believe in miracles. They do happen sometimes - and the next one might be yours.
Love and baby dust,
SW
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
at last
I debated whether to write about THIS here, now, or not. But after all the writing I've done about this subject on this blog and over at my original blog, Average Everyday Super Woman, over the past four years, I realize that I can't NOT share THIS. THIS is the whole point of this blog, and I've seen first-hand that me sharing my stories and experiences with secondary infertility has helped others going through it.
So, here THIS is:
I'm pregnant!
It seems so inadequate a phrase for something that has been so fervently wished, hoped and prayed for over the past 4-1/2 years, but it's also been the goal of all of the tears, treatments and waiting, the surgery, medications and frustrations.
Anyone who has wanted and longed and waited for a baby can understand how this has felt, this journey of 4-1/2 years. It was long. It was often lonely. It was confusing, struggling with the question of whether to give up or keep going. The miscarriage in May was devastating, and really became a pivotal point for me.
At first I looked at the miscarriage as God's or the Universe's way of making sure I didn't lose faith and give up -- after all those years of trying and NOT getting pregnant, at least I finally got pregnant: we knew then that we could still make it happen.
And then I wondered if the miscarriage was the sign that while YES we could force a pregnancy with our medical team, it wasn't meant to be and I should accept that and walk away.
Ultimately, Super Man and I decided we'd continue with our remaining IUIs. BUT we agreed that IF I had another miscarriage, we'd get through it and then leave our dream of another child behind and move forward with our family as it is. Oh, that was a painful decision to make... But I know in my heart that I could not go through any more of ANY of it if we lost another baby.
And then...
IUI #4 on 8/25/10 worked.
I found out at my annual ob-gyn appointment on 9/8/10 that I was pregnant again. I didn't think I was; I didn't think that IUI had worked. I felt like my period was coming, although it was one day late. I asked them to give me a pee test just so I could know and be done with it and move on, and lo and behold, the nurse came in and told me the test was POSITIVE. I was pregnant. I was pregnant!!
My hCG numbers were light-years better than those from April. This time, my first hCG was 273.3, one day after missing my period, and my second hCG was up to 688.5, three days after missing my period. My progesterone was 48. Back in April, my hCG was only 27.2 four days after missing my period, and had gone up to just 99.6 six days after missing my period. I have no idea what my progesterone was that time, but it didn't matter: In the end, I lost that pregnancy.
But this one. This one looks like a keeper. At last...
I had a 7-week ultrasound this morning with one of our fertility specialists. I was so nervous all morning. I've felt so different this time, much more pregnant, more like when I was expecting Super Boy, but still. Last time, I thought it was all good and then showed up for the ultrasound only to find out I'd had a blighted ovum.
But this time... My ultrasound showed a growing baby, 7 weeks and 1 day, with a heart rate of 135 beats per minute. I have a picture of the little nut, although it's impossible to see anything in detail. It simply provides the black and white proof that I needed to see with my own eyes: There is a baby, in my belly, and it's alive and growing.
And that's all I need to know for now.
My mom was convinced there were babies. Thankfully, there's just the one baby. Super Man would twitch every time my mom spoke of multiples, although we knew it was possible due to the fertility meds and his family history of twins. As it is, he's so happy and excited, but nervous about being 45 with a newborn, an 8-year-old and a 15-year-old, come spring. I get it; I do. But he's not the only man that age to become a father again, and he surely won't be the last.
I reminded him that it's one of the few drawbacks of him having married a younger woman. He smiled and laughed.
I can't help but think of the irony of the timing of my starting this new blog. I was just going into IUI #4, and although I was hoping for the best, the realist in me was grimly preparing myself for the worst. I had finally forced myself to begin contemplating how I'd cope with coming to the end of the IUI road without another baby, since IUI was literally the end of the road for us. There was to be no in vitro, no adoption, no nothin' beyond our six planned IUIs.
People often asked me why I didn't stop, why I kept trying for FOUR AND A HALF YEARS for another baby. The answer was simple: I always believed there was another baby waiting for us to get the timing & details right. My belief was unwavering. Until the miscarriage. And then I did start thinking that maybe my belief was simply desperate desire & delusion. Now I know otherwise, but I can't help but wonder if my starting this blog and preparing myself for the outcome I DIDN'T want helped make sure that the outcome I DID want would come to pass.
For all of you reading this who are going through your own struggles with secondary infertility, please know you aren't and haven't been alone. Please take this news of mine and hold hope in your hearts that your own good news, your own miracle, is just around the corner. Figure out with your partner how far you're willing to go to have another child, and then resolve to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Hope, hope, hope. And then hope some more.
I am still here, and I will still write here about what our journey to this baby has been like. I don't want to end this blog, and it's my hope that through this blog and through my fertility specialists I can continue to be a resource for others going through secondary infertility. I have no intention of abandoning this cause.
Thank you for reading my words, for pulling for us, and for believing in miracles!!
SW
So, here THIS is:
I'm pregnant!
It seems so inadequate a phrase for something that has been so fervently wished, hoped and prayed for over the past 4-1/2 years, but it's also been the goal of all of the tears, treatments and waiting, the surgery, medications and frustrations.
Anyone who has wanted and longed and waited for a baby can understand how this has felt, this journey of 4-1/2 years. It was long. It was often lonely. It was confusing, struggling with the question of whether to give up or keep going. The miscarriage in May was devastating, and really became a pivotal point for me.
At first I looked at the miscarriage as God's or the Universe's way of making sure I didn't lose faith and give up -- after all those years of trying and NOT getting pregnant, at least I finally got pregnant: we knew then that we could still make it happen.
And then I wondered if the miscarriage was the sign that while YES we could force a pregnancy with our medical team, it wasn't meant to be and I should accept that and walk away.
Ultimately, Super Man and I decided we'd continue with our remaining IUIs. BUT we agreed that IF I had another miscarriage, we'd get through it and then leave our dream of another child behind and move forward with our family as it is. Oh, that was a painful decision to make... But I know in my heart that I could not go through any more of ANY of it if we lost another baby.
And then...
IUI #4 on 8/25/10 worked.
I found out at my annual ob-gyn appointment on 9/8/10 that I was pregnant again. I didn't think I was; I didn't think that IUI had worked. I felt like my period was coming, although it was one day late. I asked them to give me a pee test just so I could know and be done with it and move on, and lo and behold, the nurse came in and told me the test was POSITIVE. I was pregnant. I was pregnant!!
My hCG numbers were light-years better than those from April. This time, my first hCG was 273.3, one day after missing my period, and my second hCG was up to 688.5, three days after missing my period. My progesterone was 48. Back in April, my hCG was only 27.2 four days after missing my period, and had gone up to just 99.6 six days after missing my period. I have no idea what my progesterone was that time, but it didn't matter: In the end, I lost that pregnancy.
But this one. This one looks like a keeper. At last...
I had a 7-week ultrasound this morning with one of our fertility specialists. I was so nervous all morning. I've felt so different this time, much more pregnant, more like when I was expecting Super Boy, but still. Last time, I thought it was all good and then showed up for the ultrasound only to find out I'd had a blighted ovum.
But this time... My ultrasound showed a growing baby, 7 weeks and 1 day, with a heart rate of 135 beats per minute. I have a picture of the little nut, although it's impossible to see anything in detail. It simply provides the black and white proof that I needed to see with my own eyes: There is a baby, in my belly, and it's alive and growing.
And that's all I need to know for now.
My mom was convinced there were babies. Thankfully, there's just the one baby. Super Man would twitch every time my mom spoke of multiples, although we knew it was possible due to the fertility meds and his family history of twins. As it is, he's so happy and excited, but nervous about being 45 with a newborn, an 8-year-old and a 15-year-old, come spring. I get it; I do. But he's not the only man that age to become a father again, and he surely won't be the last.
I reminded him that it's one of the few drawbacks of him having married a younger woman. He smiled and laughed.
I can't help but think of the irony of the timing of my starting this new blog. I was just going into IUI #4, and although I was hoping for the best, the realist in me was grimly preparing myself for the worst. I had finally forced myself to begin contemplating how I'd cope with coming to the end of the IUI road without another baby, since IUI was literally the end of the road for us. There was to be no in vitro, no adoption, no nothin' beyond our six planned IUIs.
People often asked me why I didn't stop, why I kept trying for FOUR AND A HALF YEARS for another baby. The answer was simple: I always believed there was another baby waiting for us to get the timing & details right. My belief was unwavering. Until the miscarriage. And then I did start thinking that maybe my belief was simply desperate desire & delusion. Now I know otherwise, but I can't help but wonder if my starting this blog and preparing myself for the outcome I DIDN'T want helped make sure that the outcome I DID want would come to pass.
For all of you reading this who are going through your own struggles with secondary infertility, please know you aren't and haven't been alone. Please take this news of mine and hold hope in your hearts that your own good news, your own miracle, is just around the corner. Figure out with your partner how far you're willing to go to have another child, and then resolve to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Hope, hope, hope. And then hope some more.
I am still here, and I will still write here about what our journey to this baby has been like. I don't want to end this blog, and it's my hope that through this blog and through my fertility specialists I can continue to be a resource for others going through secondary infertility. I have no intention of abandoning this cause.
Thank you for reading my words, for pulling for us, and for believing in miracles!!
SW
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
a big day
Tomorrow is a big day for us. I can't say why just yet; I just ask that you trust me on that.
In the meantime, I have to ask for lots of prayers and good thoughts and good juju. So much is riding on the outcome of one hour of our day tomorrow that my head is spinning. As has become my motto in life, I'm hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
Just please, please, please let it be the best outcome!
Thanks for hanging with me, fellow secondary infertiles & family/friends. You have no idea how much it has meant to me.
SW
In the meantime, I have to ask for lots of prayers and good thoughts and good juju. So much is riding on the outcome of one hour of our day tomorrow that my head is spinning. As has become my motto in life, I'm hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
Just please, please, please let it be the best outcome!
Thanks for hanging with me, fellow secondary infertiles & family/friends. You have no idea how much it has meant to me.
SW
Sunday, September 19, 2010
power of prayer?
People have often told me over the years that they were keeping me/us in their prayers that God would answer our prayers and give us another child to complete our family. I always appreciated the sentiment and was grateful for their prayers, as I was of course also praying HARD AND CONSTANTLY for the same thing. Only it seemed like God wasn't listening. To any of us.
I'm Catholic. I'm ashamed to say I don't understand my religion completely, but I'm working on it. I have a few big issues with the Catholic Church, and sometimes I wonder if I truly am a Catholic then, or if I'm really "just" a Christian. I'm not sure that it matters entirely what my label is, though.
What I do consider myself to be whole-heartedly is spiritual. I DO believe in God. I DO believe there is a higher power that created us all and guides our lives in ways big and small, and that all of life MEANS something, whether we ever figure out the meaning or not.
So, through the past four-and-a-half years of trying for another baby, yes, I have prayed. Not just to God and Jesus, but to the Universe-at-large. I have prayed that we would find the last member (or members) of our family, somewhere, somehow.
When after three-and-a-half years of trying on our own under the care of my regular ob-gyn we were still not pregnant, I made an appointment with our fertility specialists. I had thought about seeking help from them sooner, but something always held me back. Admittedly for awhile it was a financial consideration, as our insurance wouldn't cover testing or treatment for infertility. But even when we came into new insurance that would cover testing and treatment (up to and including IUI but NOT in vitro), I hesitated to take that step. Maybe it was a matter of feeling ashamed that after achieving one pregnancy (Super Boy) easily and without assistance, we were now completely incapable of repeating our success; maybe it was a bit of resistance due to the sheer sterile mechanics of it all and not wanting to completely rely on medicine & science to make it happen at the expense of love and romance.
How silly of me, I know. For starters, while the love was always present, the romance was long gone! That went out the window after about Year #2 of trying to conceive without success. Beyond that point, it was like a critical monthly mission planned with military precision more than any kind of stolen romantic moments. I had laser-like focus on my window of fertile opportunity, and Super Man just jumped when I said jump. Or, well, you know.
Very hot, yes?
With the first IUI, we sort of knew what to expect, having talked it through with the doctors, but we both felt a little weird about the whole thing, given that we wouldn't even be in the same room when the insemination actually happened. Super Man would go in to the fertility clinic early in the morning, do his thing in a specimen cup, and drive his usual hour commute to work. Two hours later, I'd show up at the fertility doctors' office, strip from the waist down and the doctor and his med student assistant would attempt to impregnate me, with Super Man's swimmers.
Tres romantique, eh?
The only thing that remained spiritual about our new, more scientific attempts to conceive was the praying. As I'd lay on the table for the required 8 minutes after each IUI, I would pray the entire time that our prayers would finally be answered and I'd get pregnant with another baby. I'd cry, too - I'm a hyper-emotional person on my best days, and trust me, the fertility medications only "enhanced" that aspect of my personality. Think PMS ALL THE TIME. Between the praying and the crying and the enormous hope bursting forth from my chest, I felt convinced each time that we would MAKE this happen, by sheer force of will and want.
And yet, I was let down time and again.
And then something happened.
I met a wonderful woman through the new church we joined at the same time we began seeing the fertility specialists. This woman happens to be a nun. And I felt an instant spiritual connection to her.
I can't explain it, and believe me, I've tried to understand it. All I can say is that she reminds me very much of one of my grandmothers, the one I lost too soon, when I was only 10. That grandmother is the only member of my family that I closely resemble, and I always felt I had a special relationship with her, as a child. To see Sister A. and see so much of my grandmother in her was astonishing.
But the connection I felt to her went beyond that; it was like I knew we had been brought together on purpose, at that time, for a reason. I knew she was there to help me as I continued on - and will eventually finish - my journey to try to have another child. What I am meant to be to her, I don't know - but I suspect she does.
I felt compelled to tell her about our struggle, and to ask her for her help in the form of prayer. It was so weird, how strong the urge was, because I usually get to know people a little bit before I bare that part of my life to them. But I shared our situation with Sister A. and asked for her help. She didn't judge me, she didn't make me feel bad or guilty for pursuing fertility treatment; she just told me sincerely and with great kindness and respect that she would be praying for us, and would ask her sisters from her Mother House in Ohio to pray for us, as well.
Over the following months, as we continued on our fertility treatment path, Sister A. would periodically approach me or email me to see how things were going, and to assure me that she was still praying for us constantly. She would send me special prayers in the mail and via email, and include us on the weekly prayer list (without naming us, per my request).
I found out earlier this year that she was leaving our parish and taking on a new ministry in Kentucky, working with the poor in the mountain communities. I was devastated to learn that she was leaving, considering I'd just found her a few months prior, but I knew in my heart she had to answer her call. It was embarrassing how strongly I was reacting to her news, with tears and true sadness to lose her. She assured me she'd stay in touch, and wasn't leaving until summer besides, and she put me at ease. Still, when the end of the religious education classes came around in early April and the going away celebration was had for Sister A., I couldn't stop crying. I was truly heartbroken to know she'd be gone soon.
When I found out that IUI #3 worked at the very end of April, Sister A. emailed me the day after to see if I had any news, almost as though she KNEW I did. I shared the happy, long-awaited news with her and she was thrilled for us. Her sisters back in Ohio emailed us their congratulations as well, and I was so incredibly touched. Over the next two weeks, Sister A. sent me adorable baby-themed notecards so I could continue to write her and update her on the pregnancy after she left for Kentucky, which I was so touched by.
Unfortunately, I lost that pregnancy just a few weeks after it began. I immediately wrote Sister A. to tell her the devastating news. I told her that I was heart-broken, numb, struggling with turning to God for comfort, after He had given me the gift I'd waited so long for only to take it away. She told me how sorry she was, but encouraged me to keep faith, not to give up, to trust that there was a reason. I resisted embracing that thought, but it turns out, she was right.
When I tried to get pregnant with Super Boy, it took us three attempts. I was terribly sad when the first two failed, but after I got pregnant with Super Boy and delivered him - my beautiful, healthy, wonderful little boy - it occurred to me that if I had gotten pregnant on either of the other two attempts, I wouldn't have HIM -- I'd have a different child. And how could I wish for that when the child I ended up having was so perfectly wonderful and lovely and everything I could have ever dreamed of and hoped for and more?
I believe now that the pregnancy in April happened to make me realize that I was right to keep trying, even though everyone around me seemed to be losing faith that I'd ever get pregnant again. That all-too-brief pregnancy happened to keep me from giving up. And I believe that I lost that pregnancy because the child we're meant to have is still coming to us. I firmly believe - and always have - that there IS another child in the Universe destined for us. When it happens, it will happen because THAT is the child we're supposed to add to our family.
Sister A. was right to encourage me to keep faith in God, to trust that He has His reasons. I see that, and I believe that.
Sister A. emailed me right before our fourth IUI attempt from late August, to let me know that she continues to pray for us, always, and that I'd been in her thoughts. I think that was a very good sign.
And I still believe.
I'm Catholic. I'm ashamed to say I don't understand my religion completely, but I'm working on it. I have a few big issues with the Catholic Church, and sometimes I wonder if I truly am a Catholic then, or if I'm really "just" a Christian. I'm not sure that it matters entirely what my label is, though.
What I do consider myself to be whole-heartedly is spiritual. I DO believe in God. I DO believe there is a higher power that created us all and guides our lives in ways big and small, and that all of life MEANS something, whether we ever figure out the meaning or not.
So, through the past four-and-a-half years of trying for another baby, yes, I have prayed. Not just to God and Jesus, but to the Universe-at-large. I have prayed that we would find the last member (or members) of our family, somewhere, somehow.
When after three-and-a-half years of trying on our own under the care of my regular ob-gyn we were still not pregnant, I made an appointment with our fertility specialists. I had thought about seeking help from them sooner, but something always held me back. Admittedly for awhile it was a financial consideration, as our insurance wouldn't cover testing or treatment for infertility. But even when we came into new insurance that would cover testing and treatment (up to and including IUI but NOT in vitro), I hesitated to take that step. Maybe it was a matter of feeling ashamed that after achieving one pregnancy (Super Boy) easily and without assistance, we were now completely incapable of repeating our success; maybe it was a bit of resistance due to the sheer sterile mechanics of it all and not wanting to completely rely on medicine & science to make it happen at the expense of love and romance.
How silly of me, I know. For starters, while the love was always present, the romance was long gone! That went out the window after about Year #2 of trying to conceive without success. Beyond that point, it was like a critical monthly mission planned with military precision more than any kind of stolen romantic moments. I had laser-like focus on my window of fertile opportunity, and Super Man just jumped when I said jump. Or, well, you know.
Very hot, yes?
With the first IUI, we sort of knew what to expect, having talked it through with the doctors, but we both felt a little weird about the whole thing, given that we wouldn't even be in the same room when the insemination actually happened. Super Man would go in to the fertility clinic early in the morning, do his thing in a specimen cup, and drive his usual hour commute to work. Two hours later, I'd show up at the fertility doctors' office, strip from the waist down and the doctor and his med student assistant would attempt to impregnate me, with Super Man's swimmers.
Tres romantique, eh?
The only thing that remained spiritual about our new, more scientific attempts to conceive was the praying. As I'd lay on the table for the required 8 minutes after each IUI, I would pray the entire time that our prayers would finally be answered and I'd get pregnant with another baby. I'd cry, too - I'm a hyper-emotional person on my best days, and trust me, the fertility medications only "enhanced" that aspect of my personality. Think PMS ALL THE TIME. Between the praying and the crying and the enormous hope bursting forth from my chest, I felt convinced each time that we would MAKE this happen, by sheer force of will and want.
And yet, I was let down time and again.
And then something happened.
I met a wonderful woman through the new church we joined at the same time we began seeing the fertility specialists. This woman happens to be a nun. And I felt an instant spiritual connection to her.
I can't explain it, and believe me, I've tried to understand it. All I can say is that she reminds me very much of one of my grandmothers, the one I lost too soon, when I was only 10. That grandmother is the only member of my family that I closely resemble, and I always felt I had a special relationship with her, as a child. To see Sister A. and see so much of my grandmother in her was astonishing.
But the connection I felt to her went beyond that; it was like I knew we had been brought together on purpose, at that time, for a reason. I knew she was there to help me as I continued on - and will eventually finish - my journey to try to have another child. What I am meant to be to her, I don't know - but I suspect she does.
I felt compelled to tell her about our struggle, and to ask her for her help in the form of prayer. It was so weird, how strong the urge was, because I usually get to know people a little bit before I bare that part of my life to them. But I shared our situation with Sister A. and asked for her help. She didn't judge me, she didn't make me feel bad or guilty for pursuing fertility treatment; she just told me sincerely and with great kindness and respect that she would be praying for us, and would ask her sisters from her Mother House in Ohio to pray for us, as well.
Over the following months, as we continued on our fertility treatment path, Sister A. would periodically approach me or email me to see how things were going, and to assure me that she was still praying for us constantly. She would send me special prayers in the mail and via email, and include us on the weekly prayer list (without naming us, per my request).
I found out earlier this year that she was leaving our parish and taking on a new ministry in Kentucky, working with the poor in the mountain communities. I was devastated to learn that she was leaving, considering I'd just found her a few months prior, but I knew in my heart she had to answer her call. It was embarrassing how strongly I was reacting to her news, with tears and true sadness to lose her. She assured me she'd stay in touch, and wasn't leaving until summer besides, and she put me at ease. Still, when the end of the religious education classes came around in early April and the going away celebration was had for Sister A., I couldn't stop crying. I was truly heartbroken to know she'd be gone soon.
When I found out that IUI #3 worked at the very end of April, Sister A. emailed me the day after to see if I had any news, almost as though she KNEW I did. I shared the happy, long-awaited news with her and she was thrilled for us. Her sisters back in Ohio emailed us their congratulations as well, and I was so incredibly touched. Over the next two weeks, Sister A. sent me adorable baby-themed notecards so I could continue to write her and update her on the pregnancy after she left for Kentucky, which I was so touched by.
Unfortunately, I lost that pregnancy just a few weeks after it began. I immediately wrote Sister A. to tell her the devastating news. I told her that I was heart-broken, numb, struggling with turning to God for comfort, after He had given me the gift I'd waited so long for only to take it away. She told me how sorry she was, but encouraged me to keep faith, not to give up, to trust that there was a reason. I resisted embracing that thought, but it turns out, she was right.
When I tried to get pregnant with Super Boy, it took us three attempts. I was terribly sad when the first two failed, but after I got pregnant with Super Boy and delivered him - my beautiful, healthy, wonderful little boy - it occurred to me that if I had gotten pregnant on either of the other two attempts, I wouldn't have HIM -- I'd have a different child. And how could I wish for that when the child I ended up having was so perfectly wonderful and lovely and everything I could have ever dreamed of and hoped for and more?
I believe now that the pregnancy in April happened to make me realize that I was right to keep trying, even though everyone around me seemed to be losing faith that I'd ever get pregnant again. That all-too-brief pregnancy happened to keep me from giving up. And I believe that I lost that pregnancy because the child we're meant to have is still coming to us. I firmly believe - and always have - that there IS another child in the Universe destined for us. When it happens, it will happen because THAT is the child we're supposed to add to our family.
Sister A. was right to encourage me to keep faith in God, to trust that He has His reasons. I see that, and I believe that.
Sister A. emailed me right before our fourth IUI attempt from late August, to let me know that she continues to pray for us, always, and that I'd been in her thoughts. I think that was a very good sign.
And I still believe.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
hCG
Those of you who have been on the infertility rollercoaster with me for awhile are well-versed about this weird little acronym, but for those who are NOT, pull up a chair and sit tight for a little bit of edumacation!
First, a definition: hCG stands for "human chorionic gonadotropin," and it is a hormone. Its role in pregnancy is critical. CRITICAL, I tell you. I say that because it is produced by the developing embryo after conception, and it prevents the corpus luteum of the ovary from dissolving, thereby ensuring that a woman's progesterone levels stay elevated to support the pregnancy. Without adequate progresterone, a pregnancy cannot be sustained.
When a person is trying to conceive and gets close to or passes the end of their cycle, they often buy a home pregnancy test. PEE STICKS!! FUN STUFF, I tell you! (At least for the first few months. After four-and-a-half years, however... You get the drift.) Anyway, the pee sticks are designed to detect hCG concentration in a woman's urine to determine whether there is a pregnancy. Most home pregnancy tests won't turn positive until hCG is above 20 or 25. Blood hCG tests are more precise, and they are sensitive enough to detect serum hCG levels even lower than 5. For the record, fertility doctors consider pregnancy to be achieved any time hCG is over 5.
Now, when I got pregnant with Super Boy many, MANY moons ago (he was conceived in August 2002 and I tested positive on September 14, 2002, when I was 28 years old), I don't think I was ever told to come in for a blood test right after I'd missed my period. I'd gotten a very strong line on my home pregnancy test with him one day after my period was due, and if memory serves, when I called the ob's office to inform them that I was pregnant, I was just told to come for a check-up at - I think - 10 or 12 weeks. I remember them drawing blood at that time, but I am pretty sure hCG wasn't among the tests they ran. So I honestly have no idea what my hCG levels were at the start of that pregnancy.
When we had IUI #3 in April and my period never showed up when it was due on April 22nd, I peed on a stick on April 23rd; it was negative. I skipped the 24th and tried again on the 25th, since my period still hadn't come; that time, I got a barely-visible SUPER faint positive. I didn't know what to make of it. Like I said, the only other time I'd gotten pregnant, with Super Boy, the line was BOLD and it filled me with confidence that YES - I WAS PREGNANT. To have a super faint line 3 days after missing my period, I was a little apprehensive.
I called the fertility doctor's office on Monday, April 26th to get in for a blood test. They called me later that day to tell me that I was "technically" pregnant, with an hCG of 27.2, but it was unusual for the number to be so low 4 days after missing a period, and they told me not to get my hopes up, that it might not be a keeper. Still, I was told to hope it at least doubled by Wednesday, which is what they hoped to see.
On pins and needles for 48 hours, I went back in on Wednesday, April 28th for a second hCG test. When they called that afternoon, I was informed that I was DEFINITELY pregnant, because the hCG level had tripled in 2 days, to 99.6. I was ecstatic!
Until I went in for a 7-week ultrasound on May 14th to find that the pregnancy had indeed failed.
And then the kicker was that I had to start going back in for labs WEEKLY to make sure my hCG was FALLING, indicating a complete miscarriage. Let me tell you, it's a lot harder emotionally to wait for hCG to fall than it is to pray for it to go UP. After 2 weeks, I was considered no longer pregnant when my hCG was down to 1.1.
I did a lot of research about hCG levels after my first hCG test back in April. I had no idea what WAS considered a "normal" result for someone 4 days after missing their period. As it turns out, I found a wide range of what is considered "normal", all of which left me somewhat uneasy, because it did appear that my levels were low at both tests, despite having tripled from the first to the second. Some sources I found online seemed to indicate that when numbers are that low early on, it's often a sign that the pregnancy WILL end, and often in a blighted ovum, which is what ultimately happened with that pregnancy.
I will most certainly be paying attention to my hCG levels going forward if I should happen to get pregnant again. After what happened last time, I will want to see GOOD, STRONG levels, to put my mind at ease.
I hate being a slave to numbers, I really do. It was so much simpler to pee on a stick, see a line, and just sit back and wait out the rest of the first trimester. Having to wait for numbers - which can ether make your day or break your heart - stinks. Especially if you're an impatient person like me!
Baby dust to all of you,
SW
First, a definition: hCG stands for "human chorionic gonadotropin," and it is a hormone. Its role in pregnancy is critical. CRITICAL, I tell you. I say that because it is produced by the developing embryo after conception, and it prevents the corpus luteum of the ovary from dissolving, thereby ensuring that a woman's progesterone levels stay elevated to support the pregnancy. Without adequate progresterone, a pregnancy cannot be sustained.
When a person is trying to conceive and gets close to or passes the end of their cycle, they often buy a home pregnancy test. PEE STICKS!! FUN STUFF, I tell you! (At least for the first few months. After four-and-a-half years, however... You get the drift.) Anyway, the pee sticks are designed to detect hCG concentration in a woman's urine to determine whether there is a pregnancy. Most home pregnancy tests won't turn positive until hCG is above 20 or 25. Blood hCG tests are more precise, and they are sensitive enough to detect serum hCG levels even lower than 5. For the record, fertility doctors consider pregnancy to be achieved any time hCG is over 5.
Now, when I got pregnant with Super Boy many, MANY moons ago (he was conceived in August 2002 and I tested positive on September 14, 2002, when I was 28 years old), I don't think I was ever told to come in for a blood test right after I'd missed my period. I'd gotten a very strong line on my home pregnancy test with him one day after my period was due, and if memory serves, when I called the ob's office to inform them that I was pregnant, I was just told to come for a check-up at - I think - 10 or 12 weeks. I remember them drawing blood at that time, but I am pretty sure hCG wasn't among the tests they ran. So I honestly have no idea what my hCG levels were at the start of that pregnancy.
When we had IUI #3 in April and my period never showed up when it was due on April 22nd, I peed on a stick on April 23rd; it was negative. I skipped the 24th and tried again on the 25th, since my period still hadn't come; that time, I got a barely-visible SUPER faint positive. I didn't know what to make of it. Like I said, the only other time I'd gotten pregnant, with Super Boy, the line was BOLD and it filled me with confidence that YES - I WAS PREGNANT. To have a super faint line 3 days after missing my period, I was a little apprehensive.
I called the fertility doctor's office on Monday, April 26th to get in for a blood test. They called me later that day to tell me that I was "technically" pregnant, with an hCG of 27.2, but it was unusual for the number to be so low 4 days after missing a period, and they told me not to get my hopes up, that it might not be a keeper. Still, I was told to hope it at least doubled by Wednesday, which is what they hoped to see.
On pins and needles for 48 hours, I went back in on Wednesday, April 28th for a second hCG test. When they called that afternoon, I was informed that I was DEFINITELY pregnant, because the hCG level had tripled in 2 days, to 99.6. I was ecstatic!
Until I went in for a 7-week ultrasound on May 14th to find that the pregnancy had indeed failed.
And then the kicker was that I had to start going back in for labs WEEKLY to make sure my hCG was FALLING, indicating a complete miscarriage. Let me tell you, it's a lot harder emotionally to wait for hCG to fall than it is to pray for it to go UP. After 2 weeks, I was considered no longer pregnant when my hCG was down to 1.1.
I did a lot of research about hCG levels after my first hCG test back in April. I had no idea what WAS considered a "normal" result for someone 4 days after missing their period. As it turns out, I found a wide range of what is considered "normal", all of which left me somewhat uneasy, because it did appear that my levels were low at both tests, despite having tripled from the first to the second. Some sources I found online seemed to indicate that when numbers are that low early on, it's often a sign that the pregnancy WILL end, and often in a blighted ovum, which is what ultimately happened with that pregnancy.
I will most certainly be paying attention to my hCG levels going forward if I should happen to get pregnant again. After what happened last time, I will want to see GOOD, STRONG levels, to put my mind at ease.
I hate being a slave to numbers, I really do. It was so much simpler to pee on a stick, see a line, and just sit back and wait out the rest of the first trimester. Having to wait for numbers - which can ether make your day or break your heart - stinks. Especially if you're an impatient person like me!
Baby dust to all of you,
SW
Friday, September 3, 2010
what's in a name
You might be wondering why I decided to name this new blog "My Incomplete Family." And I've got an answer for you. Sort of.
Naming a blog is a tough thing. For starters, there are soooooooooooo many other blogs in the world today that just finding a name that's available is tricky nowadays.
And then there's the matter of finding something catchy, something that gets to the heart of what you want to write about while being easy to remember. And clever - let's not forget clever.
Not that I'm saying that my blog name is clever. But it does get to the heart of what I want to write about, and it's shorter and easier to remember than some of the others I considered. Whoooeeeeeee... trust me on that!
I'm sure there are some who will say I'm being disrespectful or unappreciative of the family I DO have by calling it an "incomplete" family, the family I have been blessed with. And they would be mistaken.
Here's why I picked the title...
In a conversation I had with someone about our fertility struggles a year or two ago, the person I was talking with said that I should be grateful for the child I DO already have, as well as for my stepdaughter, and just accept that a second pregnancy wasn't in the cards for me.
I had to stop myself from responding impetuously and think through the right way to address that, because it IS something that has weighed on me at times.
Finally I figured out how to say what I really wanted to say in response to that. And it was this:
When you and your husband met and fell in love and decided to build a life together, and you were picturing the family you wanted together, how many children did it include? None? Just one? Or was it two? Or four? Or six?
Us wanting another child doesn't mean we don't appreciate the two we already have between us; if anything, going through so much to try to have another and not being able to make it happen has made us appreciate the miracles of Super Girl and Super Boy more than ever. It's just that we still hope to have the family we pictured ourselves having: which included me, Super Man, Super Girl, Super Boy -- and another child.
Before I met Super Man, I always wanted three or four kids of my own. After I met him, and he was older than me and already had Super Girl, I compromised with wanting just two together. We have one of the two -- and we're still praying for the other.
So, yes -- to me, our family still feels incomplete. Is it still a wonderful, beautiful, blessed family? Absolutely; there's no question about that. It's just that we're still one person short of the family we envisioned ourselves having, and that missing person is always on my mind.
Naming a blog is a tough thing. For starters, there are soooooooooooo many other blogs in the world today that just finding a name that's available is tricky nowadays.
And then there's the matter of finding something catchy, something that gets to the heart of what you want to write about while being easy to remember. And clever - let's not forget clever.
Not that I'm saying that my blog name is clever. But it does get to the heart of what I want to write about, and it's shorter and easier to remember than some of the others I considered. Whoooeeeeeee... trust me on that!
I'm sure there are some who will say I'm being disrespectful or unappreciative of the family I DO have by calling it an "incomplete" family, the family I have been blessed with. And they would be mistaken.
Here's why I picked the title...
In a conversation I had with someone about our fertility struggles a year or two ago, the person I was talking with said that I should be grateful for the child I DO already have, as well as for my stepdaughter, and just accept that a second pregnancy wasn't in the cards for me.
I had to stop myself from responding impetuously and think through the right way to address that, because it IS something that has weighed on me at times.
Finally I figured out how to say what I really wanted to say in response to that. And it was this:
When you and your husband met and fell in love and decided to build a life together, and you were picturing the family you wanted together, how many children did it include? None? Just one? Or was it two? Or four? Or six?
Us wanting another child doesn't mean we don't appreciate the two we already have between us; if anything, going through so much to try to have another and not being able to make it happen has made us appreciate the miracles of Super Girl and Super Boy more than ever. It's just that we still hope to have the family we pictured ourselves having: which included me, Super Man, Super Girl, Super Boy -- and another child.
Before I met Super Man, I always wanted three or four kids of my own. After I met him, and he was older than me and already had Super Girl, I compromised with wanting just two together. We have one of the two -- and we're still praying for the other.
So, yes -- to me, our family still feels incomplete. Is it still a wonderful, beautiful, blessed family? Absolutely; there's no question about that. It's just that we're still one person short of the family we envisioned ourselves having, and that missing person is always on my mind.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
of joy and sorrow
Have you ever read the book "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran? It's one of my favorites, in that it carries such simple, eloquent wisdom. If you haven't had a chance to acquaint yourself with it, I highly recommend you go get yourself a copy.
My first experience with this book came on our wedding day. Some very dear and wise friends of ours, a couple around my parents' age, had given it to us as part of our wedding gift.
Now, I'm an avid reader. I'm constantly reading, and often more than one - or two - things at a time. Books, magazines, poetry, all manner of things. It was inevitable that I would read this book sooner rather than later.
And when I did, I fell in love. Hard and fast.
While I haven't read it cover to cover in quite a while, I often find myself reaching for it when I'm struggling with something in my life. Surprisingly enough, it only occurred to me late last night to consult "The Prophet" again to seek some wisdom to help me cope with how I'm feeling right now about where we're at in our fertility treatments.
Of course, I found what I needed within its well-worn pages.
The part that comforted my heart and soul was in the pages about joy and sorrow in our lives. Here is an excerpt:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
It was like being struck by lightening, the truth of those words. All I had to recall was the utter despair and sadness I felt after four years of trying for a second baby and then the unmatchable, complete, absolute joy I felt when at last I heard the words "congratulations, you're pregnant" back in April.
Of course I was thrilled when I found out I was pregnant with Super Boy. I wanted him so much, with all my heart -- but he came so easily to me. We tried only three months for him. It was as though "of course I'm pregnant!" Only now, after struggling for so many years through so many dark moments do I realize just how truly lucky and blessed and fortunate we are that we conceived Super Boy at all, much less in three months. To hear that I was at last pregnant again, my joy was greater than ever before -- because my sadness has been greater than ever before.
On another note, for the longest time, I considered my infertility to be the glitch -- but what if the glitch was that I ever got pregnant with Super Boy? What if my body was meant to be barren, but by the grace of God I somehow got pregnant with Super Boy?
Here is another excerpt that hit home for me:
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Again: nothing can sum up how I feel better than this. When it comes to wanting another baby, and having the beautiful child I was so gratefully blessed with, my sorrow and my joy are inseparable. They are one and the same. What I want more than anything in the world has already given me unbelievable joy -- and unbelievable sorrow.
Dwelling on one is also dwelling on the other.
As I lay in bed after reading that, for the first time in a very long time, my soul felt calm. My mind felt quieted.
Reading that, and reacting to it in that way, makes me feel like I WILL survive this, no matter how the story ends. Because even if I will never hold another of my own newborn babies in my arms again, I've held my newborn baby in my arms, and I treasured that experience, and I know just how lucky and blessed I am to be a mother to him.
I send peace and light and love to all who are going through this struggle, too.
My first experience with this book came on our wedding day. Some very dear and wise friends of ours, a couple around my parents' age, had given it to us as part of our wedding gift.
Now, I'm an avid reader. I'm constantly reading, and often more than one - or two - things at a time. Books, magazines, poetry, all manner of things. It was inevitable that I would read this book sooner rather than later.
And when I did, I fell in love. Hard and fast.
While I haven't read it cover to cover in quite a while, I often find myself reaching for it when I'm struggling with something in my life. Surprisingly enough, it only occurred to me late last night to consult "The Prophet" again to seek some wisdom to help me cope with how I'm feeling right now about where we're at in our fertility treatments.
Of course, I found what I needed within its well-worn pages.
The part that comforted my heart and soul was in the pages about joy and sorrow in our lives. Here is an excerpt:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
It was like being struck by lightening, the truth of those words. All I had to recall was the utter despair and sadness I felt after four years of trying for a second baby and then the unmatchable, complete, absolute joy I felt when at last I heard the words "congratulations, you're pregnant" back in April.
Of course I was thrilled when I found out I was pregnant with Super Boy. I wanted him so much, with all my heart -- but he came so easily to me. We tried only three months for him. It was as though "of course I'm pregnant!" Only now, after struggling for so many years through so many dark moments do I realize just how truly lucky and blessed and fortunate we are that we conceived Super Boy at all, much less in three months. To hear that I was at last pregnant again, my joy was greater than ever before -- because my sadness has been greater than ever before.
On another note, for the longest time, I considered my infertility to be the glitch -- but what if the glitch was that I ever got pregnant with Super Boy? What if my body was meant to be barren, but by the grace of God I somehow got pregnant with Super Boy?
Here is another excerpt that hit home for me:
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Again: nothing can sum up how I feel better than this. When it comes to wanting another baby, and having the beautiful child I was so gratefully blessed with, my sorrow and my joy are inseparable. They are one and the same. What I want more than anything in the world has already given me unbelievable joy -- and unbelievable sorrow.
Dwelling on one is also dwelling on the other.
As I lay in bed after reading that, for the first time in a very long time, my soul felt calm. My mind felt quieted.
Reading that, and reacting to it in that way, makes me feel like I WILL survive this, no matter how the story ends. Because even if I will never hold another of my own newborn babies in my arms again, I've held my newborn baby in my arms, and I treasured that experience, and I know just how lucky and blessed I am to be a mother to him.
I send peace and light and love to all who are going through this struggle, too.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
our story
I met my wonderful husband, hereafter referred to as Super Man, when I was 24 and married him when I was 26 (he - being 8 years older than I - was 32 and 34, respectively). Super Man had an adorable little girl, Super Girl, when I met him. She was the product of his earlier, brief marriage to a different woman. They shared custody of Super Girl, but she primarily lived with her mom and Super Man had her every other weekend. She was 2 when Super Man & I met and 4 when we got married, and she's now a lovely 14-year-old high school freshman.
When Super Girl was 6, and I was 28 and Super Man was 36, we started trying for what we thought of as our first child together, meaning "the first of more than one" that we planned to have together.
Within 3 months, I was pregnant with our amazing little miracle, Super Boy. He was born when Super Girl was 7, I was 29 and Super Man was 37. Super Boy was a fabulous baby (and toddler, and kid) -- easygoing, mellow, happy, sweet, funny, charismatic. It was a joy to become a full-fledged mommy with him as my teacher, especially after Super Girl did such a good job prepping me in my role as stepmom.
With Super Man being 8 years older than I, we knew we didn't want to wait a REALLY long time to try for another baby, but I was working full-time and we didn't want to have two in daycare for long, so we waited until Super Boy was almost 3, and I was 32 and Super Man was 40, to start trying to get pregnant again.
Three months went by. I won't lie: I fully expected I'd be pregnant by the end of Month #3, just like with Super Boy. My cycles were totally regular, every 28 days, I was ovulating on day 14 most months, and I had only taken hormonal birth control for a few months after Super Boy was born, so you'd think it would be fairly easy.
Little did I know I had many, many more months -- YEARS worth -- to go before I'd once again hear the words: YOU'RE PREGNANT.
When a year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was confused, a little concerned, and deeply unhappy. I mean, YES, I admit that every month wasn't our absolute best efforts -- after all, we had an active 3-year-old, a busy 10-year-old every other weekend, and two full time jobs! We weren't getting a whole lotta sleep, much less a whole lotta mommy-and-daddy time, so I wrote it off to all of THAT.
When the second year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was a LOT concerned and even more unhappy. This isn't how it was supposed to be! I was 34 and I was absolutely supposed to be pregnant by then! Literally EVERYONE I had been pregnant with the first time around had lapped me in pregnancy - at least once - and so added to all of the other things I felt, I had a deep sense of shame and embarrassment and inadequacy that we were unable to get this thing done like everyone else had. In a Reiki session that year, I could picture myself with a little girl, so clearly I'd have swore it was real. Despite my despair, I had hope.
I had talked to my regular ob/gyn about it, the one who delivered Super Boy (via C-section). She was convinced it was just timing. I asked her to check a few things -- my FSH, to make sure I was still ovulating since I have a family history of premature menopause on both sides of my family; my progesterone; my tubes; Super Man's swimmers. She did the blood tests to check the first two, and they were fine, so she felt we could hold off on the third. As for the fourth, dude hit it out of the park - there was absolutely nothing wrong with his boys.
During these first two years of trying to conceive, I was also dealing with a separate gynecologic situation: I kept having abnormal Pap smears (if you're interested - and you have, oh, 12 hours or so, you can read about it here, here, here, here, here and here). I was convinced that situation had something to do with me not getting pregnant, but who knows? Because even after it was all resolved, I wasn't getting pregnant.
Then the third year came and went. I was 35. It was obvious to me, if not to my doctor, that things were decidedly NOT okay and that timing couldn't be the issue because we had tried every kind of timing there was in the THREE YEARS we'd already been trying. Fortunately, due to an unanticipated job change on Super Man's part, we found ourselves with much better insurance, which thankfully covered testing and some treatment for infertility.
I had a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to check my tubes (you can read about it here and here). They were clear. The radiologist did, however, notice a small abnormality in my uterus, which he figured was a fibroid, but not a large one. I gave it a few more months, and then I scheduled an appointment with a well-reputed Reproductive Medicine clinic in Milwaukee to seek specialized help.
I had my first appointment with the specialist in September of 2009. We reviewed my history: discussed my first pregnancy & delivery (picture-perfect pregnancy but 30-hour long delivery that ended in a C-section), reviewed all my test results (all normal), discussed the various things we'd tried in our efforts to conceive. Based on all of that, the specialist diagnosed us with "secondary infertility of unknown cause."
A part of me cringed to hear the official diagnosis of infertility, but a part of me felt relief to finally be taken seriously that SOMETHING IS WRONG after 3-1/2 years of trying without a single pregnancy to speak of.
I was started on Clomid, scheduled for a repeat FSH test to make sure I was still ovulating, and then went in for a mid-cycle ultrasound to see if it worked. Assuming it did, the plan was to start intrauterine insemination (IUI, also known as artificial insemination) that month.
The good news from the ultrasound was that my ovaries responded beautifully to the Clomid. The bad news was that after seeing it on ultrasound, the doctor felt the suspected fibroid in my uterus needed to be checked out and possibly removed before we started IUI. And there was another suspected fibroid in there, too.
I was less than thrilled. I was growing increasingly impatient. My 36th birthday was fast approaching.
All of that meant that there would be no IUI in September. Or in October, because the surgery couldn't be scheduled until late in October.
And I was even less thrilled when I ended up with a bad respiratory virus the week I was to have surgery, resulting in the surgery being delayed until November.
When at last the big day arrived, I was nervous. The only surgery I'd ever had was my C-section, and I was awake for that. The only sedation I'd ever had was for a colonoscopy in 2007. This was going to be a two-fer: surgery AND sedation. Thankfully, my anesthesiologist and I had a great talk beforehand and she understood all my concerns about the sedation (I have a GIGANTIC AWFUL EMBARRASSING vomit phobia issue). I ended up feeling absolutely fine when I came out of surgery. They removed both suspected fibroids - which turned out to be benign polyps - without incident, and I just had to wait one cycle to to start IUI.
Which puts us at December 2009. I took my Clomid, had another mid-cycle ultrasound that again showed I was responding beautifully to the meds, I had an hCG shot to force ovulation, and I went into IUI with the absolute highest of hopes. The two-week wait was torture. But I was optimistic!
And then my period showed up.
We went through the process again in January, minus the hCG shot - I wanted to try ovulating naturally and see if that made a difference. Again, I was crazy-hopeful and optimistic, as my specialist felt that I was really a great candidate for a successful IUI. Being somewhat superstitious, I also felt like it was perhaps auspicious that my 36th birthday at the end of January was going to coincide with the end of the cycle, when I could test to see if IUI #2 had worked. And...
Wait for it...
My period showed up.
Happy 36th Birthday.
uuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh
I was frustrated. I was even more frustrated that certain events beyond our control meant that trying IUI again in February would be a waste of our time due to our stress levels. Instead, we decided that I'd still take Clomid, but we'd just try on our own and see if that would do the trick. Except that I ended up having a bad reaction to the Clomid on day 3 of 5, in the form of disturbing visual problems, which meant I was immediately pulled from the meds for that month (and all eternity thereafter). We still tried on our own that month, but our efforts failed.
I was discouraged. I was blue. I was feeling old. And I was feeling like the Universe was totally against us. Or at least against me, anyway.
Given my state of mind - not to mention the chaotic schedule Super Man had in the month of March - we opted to take a breather that month and regroup.
Which brings me to April 2010, and IUI #3.
While I continued to feel hopeful and optimistic, I was also cautious and weary. I had to force myself to just take it all as it came. I tried a new medication, Femara (letrazole), which is typically used to treat estrogen-related breast cancer but was found to have a very strong fertility side effect, which makes it a good choice treatment when Clomid isn't an option. I tolerated it beautifully, and my mid-cycle ultrasound showed that it had worked well for me. I waited to get my positive ovulation test and we scheduled our IUI for the following day.
Two weeks went by. My breasts felt huge and tender. I was nauseous and exhausted.
I felt pregnant.
My period didn't show up on the day it was due (my cycles are like clockwork, every 28 days). I took a test the day after, but it was negative. I waited 2 days and took another test. This time I got a very, very faint line. But... with Super Boy I had a BOLD line - there was no question I was pregnant. I was nervous.
I called my specialist the next day and asked them to order a blood test. I went to the lab, holding my breath, praying, praying, praying.
They called me that afternoon. "Technically," I was pregnant -- anything over 5 hCG is a positive, and mine was at 27. "HOWEVER"... I was 4 days late for my period, and it was 18 days post-IUI. My hCG should've been higher at that point. They told me not to get my hopes up, and to come back in 2 days to re-test.
I held my breath and prayed for 2 straight days. I went back on 4/28/10 for my blood draw, and waited on pins and needles for the nurse to call me with the results.
I had just come home from the grocery store with Super Boy when the phone rang. My heart was beating frantically. And that was when I heard the words I'd waited exactly 4 long years to hear:
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'RE PREGNANT!!
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, those words were so sweet! I paused, breathless, for a fraction of a second before I started crying, and laughing, asking "are you sure?? FOR SURE???" My hCG had tripled in those 2 days, indicating that all was progressing.
I was officially pregnant, at long last.
I know there are some women who don't get that jazzed up over pregnancy -- their own or anyone else's. I'm not one of those women.
The moment I heard those sweet and long-awaited words, I was all in. I was pregnant. I was having a baby. We were expanding our family. There was no kind of or sort of or maybe -- I was 200% in it, no going back.
My official due date was 1/1/11. Super Man and I thought that was incredibly special, and so symbolic: a wonderful new start to a brand new year. The reality is that I probably would've had a scheduled C-section a few weeks earlier, but that's beside the point. And, best of all, I'd be delivering before my 37th birthday.
I checked Super Boy's old car seats to see if they were still usable. I started looking at summer maternity clothes, as my maternity wardrobe from 2002-2003 was all cold-weather clothes, with that pregnancy being from late August to late May. I started looking at strollers online. I knitted two baby hats, something I'd never done before. I was about to start on a sweater. I decided to make a blanket with some super soft yarn I'd found in my stash. I was pregnant.
As the days passed, I felt more and more sick to my stomach (a good thing!), and my mind was completely preoccupied with the baby growing in my belly. Our whole family was walking on air at the long-awaited news. Super Boy was super excited to be a big brother, Super Girl was hoping it was triplets (!!!), my mom was already looking at baby girl clothes, and all our parents were just thrilled and happy for the news to finally arrive.
The weeks passed. I continued to feel nauseous and tired, and my breasts still killed. We had scheduled a 7-week ultrasound with my fertility specialist for 05/14/10; if all checked out there, I'd transfer back to my regular ob/gyn for the remainder of the pregnancy. I had the date in my calendar in red, circled with a heart, and I could not wait to go and see my little baby growing, to see a heartbeat.
The day of the ultrasound, Super Man had big meetings and felt bad that he couldn't come with, but neither of us suspected any problems, so we didn't think too much about it. I went to the clinic with a huge smile on my face, thrilled to finally see the proof that IUI #3 had worked. As I waited to be called back, I worked on knitting my baby blanket in the waiting room.
At last, I was called. I went back with a spring in my step, barely containing my excitement. The doctor was asking how I'd been feeling (answer: pregnant!), if I'd had any spotting or cramping (answer: none!), and he couldn't help but smile for how excited I was. He turned the monitor towards me and started the intravaginal ultrasound.
He found the sac immediately.
My heart sank. Because I knew it the second I saw it.
It didn't look the way it was supposed to look. It was just a circle. It housed nothing.
I could barely speak the words, "This isn't what we're supposed to be seeing, is it?"
"Unfortunately, no. I just want to see if there's another fertilized egg growing elsewhere..."
My heart was pounding. My eyes darted frantically around the screen, praying that we would find another with a healthy baby growing in it.
We didn't.
And just like that, I was no longer pregnant.
I cried. I sobbed. I was so, so sad. I felt duped, embarrassed, furious, anguished. Numb.
And to top it off, I was alone.
The doctor left the room while I dressed and took a moment to try to call Super Man. I tried; he didn't answer. I tried again; he still didn't answer. Angry, heart-broken and frustrated, I called my mom. We cried. I could barely move.
When the doctor came back for me, we went to another room to talk. He shared his condolences, but told me not to give up. While the lost pregnancy didn't feel like a good thing right that second, it WAS actually a good thing: We now knew I could get pregnant. We had done it. After four solid years of no pregnancy, I had finally gotten pregnant.
We had the right equation, the right components. We just had to wait for the pregnancy to miscarry and try again.
I was devastated. I had never had a miscarriage to my knowledge, and I never in a million years expected to have a miscarriage. It was stupid to be surprised by it, in retrospect. After all, I was 29 when I had Super Boy and I'm 36 now. Miscarriage rates are higher at my age. Even the doctor said that he's not surprised by this occurrence of blighted ovum because of my age -- the quality of some portion of my eggs is less than ideal, and it was a genetic glitch that caused the pregnancy to stop.
Despite that, he felt very optimistic that we could get me pregnant again and still have the desired outcome: a healthy baby.
My miscarriage began the following day, entirely on its own. I couldn't decide whether to be happy that I never had any spotting or cramping prior to finding out that I was no longer pregnant or whether I was glad I knew beforehand. I suppose I'm glad I knew before the miscarriage started, because I would've been completely freaking out the other way. I was already freaking out, but it could've been worse.
Still, it was bad. Not "the worst thing anyone has ever gone through" kind of bad, but bad. I was in bed for days. My bleeding thankfully never got too bad or crossed over into dangerous territory, and I was thankful for that. After about 5 days, it was mostly over.
Physically, at least.
Mentally, I was a mess.
I couldn't seem to stop crying. I felt totally and completely alone, for a few different reasons. I was utterly and completely decimated. I'm sure it didn't help that my hCG level took a few weeks to drop back down to zero.
The kicker was that Super Boy's birthday was the following weekend, so I couldn't afford to indulge my desire to stay in bed for the rest of my life. I could barely indulge it for a week. In retrospect, I'm glad I couldn't do what my bruised heart wanted to do. I'm glad my son's miraculous existence and my fervent desire to honor the incredibly special day of his birth forced me to get up, shower, and go about the business of something normal in my life. That much, I could do.
Each day was fractionally better than the one before it. Each week got a little easier to put behind me. The months passed; life returned to normal, mostly. But make no mistake: Even now, nearly 4 months later, I still know exactly how many weeks pregnant I'd have been now if the pregnancy hadn't stopped. (I'd have been 23 weeks pregnant this Friday.) No matter how much I've healed in that time, there is some part of me that is irreparably broken by that loss.
Anyway...
I had to wait for my period to return after the miscarriage, which it did in June. And then my specialist wanted me to wait through another full cycle before we resumed IUI again. As always, my periods came every 28 days, even after the miscarriage.
While I waited to get through the second cycle, I realized that it seemed like EVERYONE ELSE IN THE MILWAUKEE AREA WAS PREGNANT EXCEPT ME. I literally could not go ANYWHERE without running into at least one obviously pregnant person. I spent the entire month grinding my teeth in frustration.
After my second post-miscarriage period came in July, I notified the doctor that I was good to go. We were cleared to restart IUI. I took my Femara again, peed on sticks again, got my positive ovulation test... and then we couldn't make IUI work with Super Man's schedule that day. We thought we'd just try on our own instead, since I'd already taken the medication... but my dad and stepmom were at our house for a few days, and on THE day we needed to either do IUI or have sex. Needless to say, it was a little too much pressure. July was lost.
I cried. I was so frustrated and angry to have had to wait 2 months to get back on track, to finally get cleared to try again, and to have taken the fertility meds only to get shut down on the IUI due to bad timing. It wasn't a good few days.
I sat down with Super Man and had a major heart-to-heart. I told him that I felt like he wasn't investing himself in this. And while he doesn't have to be there for MY part of IUI, he DOES have to be there for HIS part. Without his part, there can be no my part. And I explained that I don't want to keep taking medication that messes with my body & my hormones for no reason -- if I'm going to take it, we'd better be doing IUI. For some reason, he seemed to think that the window of opportunity was much larger than it actually is - he simply didn't understand how critical the timing of things really is. He promised me he'd do his best to keep the next ovulation week as open as he could.
Which brought us to August. Once again, I took my Femara, peed on sticks, waited for the smiley face. It came on Day 14, we had IUI on Day 15...
And now we wait.
If I haven't gotten my period by 9/7, I will be testing on 9/8.
I can't help but be hopeful. IUI #3 worked with all these same components. I am praying fervently, desperately, humbly that IUI #4 will be The One.
If it's not, we have 2 IUIs left.
We're not pursuing in vitro (insurance doesn't cover it and we can't justify going broke and putting ourselves in financial jeopardy to pursue it).
We're not pursuing adoption (I would under other circumstances, but at Super Man's age, he can't see doing it).
For the record, if we didn't have Super Boy, we would absolutely be pursuing one or both of those options, but we do have one miracle child together, and we both feel blessed to have him.
So, if these final IUIs don't work, then we're done.
~~~~
And I think I'll stop there, for now. Between this post and all its links to my posts about the various subjects on my Average Everyday Super Woman blog, I figure that will occupy the readers of this blog for a few hours, at least.
Until next time...
When Super Girl was 6, and I was 28 and Super Man was 36, we started trying for what we thought of as our first child together, meaning "the first of more than one" that we planned to have together.
Within 3 months, I was pregnant with our amazing little miracle, Super Boy. He was born when Super Girl was 7, I was 29 and Super Man was 37. Super Boy was a fabulous baby (and toddler, and kid) -- easygoing, mellow, happy, sweet, funny, charismatic. It was a joy to become a full-fledged mommy with him as my teacher, especially after Super Girl did such a good job prepping me in my role as stepmom.
With Super Man being 8 years older than I, we knew we didn't want to wait a REALLY long time to try for another baby, but I was working full-time and we didn't want to have two in daycare for long, so we waited until Super Boy was almost 3, and I was 32 and Super Man was 40, to start trying to get pregnant again.
Three months went by. I won't lie: I fully expected I'd be pregnant by the end of Month #3, just like with Super Boy. My cycles were totally regular, every 28 days, I was ovulating on day 14 most months, and I had only taken hormonal birth control for a few months after Super Boy was born, so you'd think it would be fairly easy.
Little did I know I had many, many more months -- YEARS worth -- to go before I'd once again hear the words: YOU'RE PREGNANT.
When a year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was confused, a little concerned, and deeply unhappy. I mean, YES, I admit that every month wasn't our absolute best efforts -- after all, we had an active 3-year-old, a busy 10-year-old every other weekend, and two full time jobs! We weren't getting a whole lotta sleep, much less a whole lotta mommy-and-daddy time, so I wrote it off to all of THAT.
When the second year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was a LOT concerned and even more unhappy. This isn't how it was supposed to be! I was 34 and I was absolutely supposed to be pregnant by then! Literally EVERYONE I had been pregnant with the first time around had lapped me in pregnancy - at least once - and so added to all of the other things I felt, I had a deep sense of shame and embarrassment and inadequacy that we were unable to get this thing done like everyone else had. In a Reiki session that year, I could picture myself with a little girl, so clearly I'd have swore it was real. Despite my despair, I had hope.
I had talked to my regular ob/gyn about it, the one who delivered Super Boy (via C-section). She was convinced it was just timing. I asked her to check a few things -- my FSH, to make sure I was still ovulating since I have a family history of premature menopause on both sides of my family; my progesterone; my tubes; Super Man's swimmers. She did the blood tests to check the first two, and they were fine, so she felt we could hold off on the third. As for the fourth, dude hit it out of the park - there was absolutely nothing wrong with his boys.
During these first two years of trying to conceive, I was also dealing with a separate gynecologic situation: I kept having abnormal Pap smears (if you're interested - and you have, oh, 12 hours or so, you can read about it here, here, here, here, here and here). I was convinced that situation had something to do with me not getting pregnant, but who knows? Because even after it was all resolved, I wasn't getting pregnant.
Then the third year came and went. I was 35. It was obvious to me, if not to my doctor, that things were decidedly NOT okay and that timing couldn't be the issue because we had tried every kind of timing there was in the THREE YEARS we'd already been trying. Fortunately, due to an unanticipated job change on Super Man's part, we found ourselves with much better insurance, which thankfully covered testing and some treatment for infertility.
I had a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to check my tubes (you can read about it here and here). They were clear. The radiologist did, however, notice a small abnormality in my uterus, which he figured was a fibroid, but not a large one. I gave it a few more months, and then I scheduled an appointment with a well-reputed Reproductive Medicine clinic in Milwaukee to seek specialized help.
I had my first appointment with the specialist in September of 2009. We reviewed my history: discussed my first pregnancy & delivery (picture-perfect pregnancy but 30-hour long delivery that ended in a C-section), reviewed all my test results (all normal), discussed the various things we'd tried in our efforts to conceive. Based on all of that, the specialist diagnosed us with "secondary infertility of unknown cause."
A part of me cringed to hear the official diagnosis of infertility, but a part of me felt relief to finally be taken seriously that SOMETHING IS WRONG after 3-1/2 years of trying without a single pregnancy to speak of.
I was started on Clomid, scheduled for a repeat FSH test to make sure I was still ovulating, and then went in for a mid-cycle ultrasound to see if it worked. Assuming it did, the plan was to start intrauterine insemination (IUI, also known as artificial insemination) that month.
The good news from the ultrasound was that my ovaries responded beautifully to the Clomid. The bad news was that after seeing it on ultrasound, the doctor felt the suspected fibroid in my uterus needed to be checked out and possibly removed before we started IUI. And there was another suspected fibroid in there, too.
I was less than thrilled. I was growing increasingly impatient. My 36th birthday was fast approaching.
All of that meant that there would be no IUI in September. Or in October, because the surgery couldn't be scheduled until late in October.
And I was even less thrilled when I ended up with a bad respiratory virus the week I was to have surgery, resulting in the surgery being delayed until November.
When at last the big day arrived, I was nervous. The only surgery I'd ever had was my C-section, and I was awake for that. The only sedation I'd ever had was for a colonoscopy in 2007. This was going to be a two-fer: surgery AND sedation. Thankfully, my anesthesiologist and I had a great talk beforehand and she understood all my concerns about the sedation (I have a GIGANTIC AWFUL EMBARRASSING vomit phobia issue). I ended up feeling absolutely fine when I came out of surgery. They removed both suspected fibroids - which turned out to be benign polyps - without incident, and I just had to wait one cycle to to start IUI.
Which puts us at December 2009. I took my Clomid, had another mid-cycle ultrasound that again showed I was responding beautifully to the meds, I had an hCG shot to force ovulation, and I went into IUI with the absolute highest of hopes. The two-week wait was torture. But I was optimistic!
And then my period showed up.
We went through the process again in January, minus the hCG shot - I wanted to try ovulating naturally and see if that made a difference. Again, I was crazy-hopeful and optimistic, as my specialist felt that I was really a great candidate for a successful IUI. Being somewhat superstitious, I also felt like it was perhaps auspicious that my 36th birthday at the end of January was going to coincide with the end of the cycle, when I could test to see if IUI #2 had worked. And...
Wait for it...
My period showed up.
Happy 36th Birthday.
uuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh
I was frustrated. I was even more frustrated that certain events beyond our control meant that trying IUI again in February would be a waste of our time due to our stress levels. Instead, we decided that I'd still take Clomid, but we'd just try on our own and see if that would do the trick. Except that I ended up having a bad reaction to the Clomid on day 3 of 5, in the form of disturbing visual problems, which meant I was immediately pulled from the meds for that month (and all eternity thereafter). We still tried on our own that month, but our efforts failed.
I was discouraged. I was blue. I was feeling old. And I was feeling like the Universe was totally against us. Or at least against me, anyway.
Given my state of mind - not to mention the chaotic schedule Super Man had in the month of March - we opted to take a breather that month and regroup.
Which brings me to April 2010, and IUI #3.
While I continued to feel hopeful and optimistic, I was also cautious and weary. I had to force myself to just take it all as it came. I tried a new medication, Femara (letrazole), which is typically used to treat estrogen-related breast cancer but was found to have a very strong fertility side effect, which makes it a good choice treatment when Clomid isn't an option. I tolerated it beautifully, and my mid-cycle ultrasound showed that it had worked well for me. I waited to get my positive ovulation test and we scheduled our IUI for the following day.
Two weeks went by. My breasts felt huge and tender. I was nauseous and exhausted.
I felt pregnant.
My period didn't show up on the day it was due (my cycles are like clockwork, every 28 days). I took a test the day after, but it was negative. I waited 2 days and took another test. This time I got a very, very faint line. But... with Super Boy I had a BOLD line - there was no question I was pregnant. I was nervous.
I called my specialist the next day and asked them to order a blood test. I went to the lab, holding my breath, praying, praying, praying.
They called me that afternoon. "Technically," I was pregnant -- anything over 5 hCG is a positive, and mine was at 27. "HOWEVER"... I was 4 days late for my period, and it was 18 days post-IUI. My hCG should've been higher at that point. They told me not to get my hopes up, and to come back in 2 days to re-test.
I held my breath and prayed for 2 straight days. I went back on 4/28/10 for my blood draw, and waited on pins and needles for the nurse to call me with the results.
I had just come home from the grocery store with Super Boy when the phone rang. My heart was beating frantically. And that was when I heard the words I'd waited exactly 4 long years to hear:
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'RE PREGNANT!!
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, those words were so sweet! I paused, breathless, for a fraction of a second before I started crying, and laughing, asking "are you sure?? FOR SURE???" My hCG had tripled in those 2 days, indicating that all was progressing.
I was officially pregnant, at long last.
I know there are some women who don't get that jazzed up over pregnancy -- their own or anyone else's. I'm not one of those women.
The moment I heard those sweet and long-awaited words, I was all in. I was pregnant. I was having a baby. We were expanding our family. There was no kind of or sort of or maybe -- I was 200% in it, no going back.
My official due date was 1/1/11. Super Man and I thought that was incredibly special, and so symbolic: a wonderful new start to a brand new year. The reality is that I probably would've had a scheduled C-section a few weeks earlier, but that's beside the point. And, best of all, I'd be delivering before my 37th birthday.
I checked Super Boy's old car seats to see if they were still usable. I started looking at summer maternity clothes, as my maternity wardrobe from 2002-2003 was all cold-weather clothes, with that pregnancy being from late August to late May. I started looking at strollers online. I knitted two baby hats, something I'd never done before. I was about to start on a sweater. I decided to make a blanket with some super soft yarn I'd found in my stash. I was pregnant.
As the days passed, I felt more and more sick to my stomach (a good thing!), and my mind was completely preoccupied with the baby growing in my belly. Our whole family was walking on air at the long-awaited news. Super Boy was super excited to be a big brother, Super Girl was hoping it was triplets (!!!), my mom was already looking at baby girl clothes, and all our parents were just thrilled and happy for the news to finally arrive.
The weeks passed. I continued to feel nauseous and tired, and my breasts still killed. We had scheduled a 7-week ultrasound with my fertility specialist for 05/14/10; if all checked out there, I'd transfer back to my regular ob/gyn for the remainder of the pregnancy. I had the date in my calendar in red, circled with a heart, and I could not wait to go and see my little baby growing, to see a heartbeat.
The day of the ultrasound, Super Man had big meetings and felt bad that he couldn't come with, but neither of us suspected any problems, so we didn't think too much about it. I went to the clinic with a huge smile on my face, thrilled to finally see the proof that IUI #3 had worked. As I waited to be called back, I worked on knitting my baby blanket in the waiting room.
At last, I was called. I went back with a spring in my step, barely containing my excitement. The doctor was asking how I'd been feeling (answer: pregnant!), if I'd had any spotting or cramping (answer: none!), and he couldn't help but smile for how excited I was. He turned the monitor towards me and started the intravaginal ultrasound.
He found the sac immediately.
My heart sank. Because I knew it the second I saw it.
It didn't look the way it was supposed to look. It was just a circle. It housed nothing.
I could barely speak the words, "This isn't what we're supposed to be seeing, is it?"
"Unfortunately, no. I just want to see if there's another fertilized egg growing elsewhere..."
My heart was pounding. My eyes darted frantically around the screen, praying that we would find another with a healthy baby growing in it.
We didn't.
And just like that, I was no longer pregnant.
I cried. I sobbed. I was so, so sad. I felt duped, embarrassed, furious, anguished. Numb.
And to top it off, I was alone.
The doctor left the room while I dressed and took a moment to try to call Super Man. I tried; he didn't answer. I tried again; he still didn't answer. Angry, heart-broken and frustrated, I called my mom. We cried. I could barely move.
When the doctor came back for me, we went to another room to talk. He shared his condolences, but told me not to give up. While the lost pregnancy didn't feel like a good thing right that second, it WAS actually a good thing: We now knew I could get pregnant. We had done it. After four solid years of no pregnancy, I had finally gotten pregnant.
We had the right equation, the right components. We just had to wait for the pregnancy to miscarry and try again.
I was devastated. I had never had a miscarriage to my knowledge, and I never in a million years expected to have a miscarriage. It was stupid to be surprised by it, in retrospect. After all, I was 29 when I had Super Boy and I'm 36 now. Miscarriage rates are higher at my age. Even the doctor said that he's not surprised by this occurrence of blighted ovum because of my age -- the quality of some portion of my eggs is less than ideal, and it was a genetic glitch that caused the pregnancy to stop.
Despite that, he felt very optimistic that we could get me pregnant again and still have the desired outcome: a healthy baby.
My miscarriage began the following day, entirely on its own. I couldn't decide whether to be happy that I never had any spotting or cramping prior to finding out that I was no longer pregnant or whether I was glad I knew beforehand. I suppose I'm glad I knew before the miscarriage started, because I would've been completely freaking out the other way. I was already freaking out, but it could've been worse.
Still, it was bad. Not "the worst thing anyone has ever gone through" kind of bad, but bad. I was in bed for days. My bleeding thankfully never got too bad or crossed over into dangerous territory, and I was thankful for that. After about 5 days, it was mostly over.
Physically, at least.
Mentally, I was a mess.
I couldn't seem to stop crying. I felt totally and completely alone, for a few different reasons. I was utterly and completely decimated. I'm sure it didn't help that my hCG level took a few weeks to drop back down to zero.
The kicker was that Super Boy's birthday was the following weekend, so I couldn't afford to indulge my desire to stay in bed for the rest of my life. I could barely indulge it for a week. In retrospect, I'm glad I couldn't do what my bruised heart wanted to do. I'm glad my son's miraculous existence and my fervent desire to honor the incredibly special day of his birth forced me to get up, shower, and go about the business of something normal in my life. That much, I could do.
Each day was fractionally better than the one before it. Each week got a little easier to put behind me. The months passed; life returned to normal, mostly. But make no mistake: Even now, nearly 4 months later, I still know exactly how many weeks pregnant I'd have been now if the pregnancy hadn't stopped. (I'd have been 23 weeks pregnant this Friday.) No matter how much I've healed in that time, there is some part of me that is irreparably broken by that loss.
Anyway...
I had to wait for my period to return after the miscarriage, which it did in June. And then my specialist wanted me to wait through another full cycle before we resumed IUI again. As always, my periods came every 28 days, even after the miscarriage.
While I waited to get through the second cycle, I realized that it seemed like EVERYONE ELSE IN THE MILWAUKEE AREA WAS PREGNANT EXCEPT ME. I literally could not go ANYWHERE without running into at least one obviously pregnant person. I spent the entire month grinding my teeth in frustration.
After my second post-miscarriage period came in July, I notified the doctor that I was good to go. We were cleared to restart IUI. I took my Femara again, peed on sticks again, got my positive ovulation test... and then we couldn't make IUI work with Super Man's schedule that day. We thought we'd just try on our own instead, since I'd already taken the medication... but my dad and stepmom were at our house for a few days, and on THE day we needed to either do IUI or have sex. Needless to say, it was a little too much pressure. July was lost.
I cried. I was so frustrated and angry to have had to wait 2 months to get back on track, to finally get cleared to try again, and to have taken the fertility meds only to get shut down on the IUI due to bad timing. It wasn't a good few days.
I sat down with Super Man and had a major heart-to-heart. I told him that I felt like he wasn't investing himself in this. And while he doesn't have to be there for MY part of IUI, he DOES have to be there for HIS part. Without his part, there can be no my part. And I explained that I don't want to keep taking medication that messes with my body & my hormones for no reason -- if I'm going to take it, we'd better be doing IUI. For some reason, he seemed to think that the window of opportunity was much larger than it actually is - he simply didn't understand how critical the timing of things really is. He promised me he'd do his best to keep the next ovulation week as open as he could.
Which brought us to August. Once again, I took my Femara, peed on sticks, waited for the smiley face. It came on Day 14, we had IUI on Day 15...
And now we wait.
If I haven't gotten my period by 9/7, I will be testing on 9/8.
I can't help but be hopeful. IUI #3 worked with all these same components. I am praying fervently, desperately, humbly that IUI #4 will be The One.
If it's not, we have 2 IUIs left.
We're not pursuing in vitro (insurance doesn't cover it and we can't justify going broke and putting ourselves in financial jeopardy to pursue it).
We're not pursuing adoption (I would under other circumstances, but at Super Man's age, he can't see doing it).
For the record, if we didn't have Super Boy, we would absolutely be pursuing one or both of those options, but we do have one miracle child together, and we both feel blessed to have him.
So, if these final IUIs don't work, then we're done.
~~~~
And I think I'll stop there, for now. Between this post and all its links to my posts about the various subjects on my Average Everyday Super Woman blog, I figure that will occupy the readers of this blog for a few hours, at least.
Until next time...
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