It was explained to us the possibilities of what are troubles were based on the previous test and failures. 1) I wasn't producing eggs, not true we saw this in ultrasound. 2) I wasn't ovulating, this was also determined to be happening based on ovulation kits used for the insemination's. 3) My eggs weren't fertilizing with my husband sperm. Ok that is what we are up to at this point.
The day after the retrieval they called me and told me that they had actually only had 11 eggs and 6 of them fertilized. We were happy with this. They told us that they would like for 2/3 to fertilized but 6 was good. The next waiting game was to continue and in 5 days we would go back for the transfer to see how they grew and developed. Along with waiting we gained another medication. I would be receiving an IM injection of progesterone. My husband would be giving this and was pretty excited. The first night however, was less than enjoyable. Lets just say we have decreased the amount of time this process takes greatly as I am getting used to the horrific shock factor of an inch and a half needle going into my back side.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
IVF Road
August 13 started a new cycle and the start of the IVF conversion. I had to go in to the clinic on days 3,6,8,10 on those days they did an ultrasound and blood work. I was overstimulating myself with the Follistim shots so that I would have multiple follicles for the retrieval. At day when I would have usually done the "trigger shot" they determined they wanted my follicles to keep cookin and went back on day 12. That night I did the "trigger shot" and they had set the time and day for the retrieval. During that time I started taking antibiotics and steroids to prepare my body. The day of the retrieval we went to the clinic, I had to change into a gown, wear booties, and hair cap. They started an IV and gave me a sedative and pain medication. Little did I know that this would be the last thing I remembered. Apparently they took me into a room and removed the follicles by a hollow needle they inserted through my uterine wall. Once this was complete and I was more alert they told us they had 12 eggs from the retrieval. The next day we would receive a call about the success of the fertilization.
Feelings Post
Not only do you have to work about handling your own emotions but when it come to IVF, you start to wonder how other people think about what you are doing. I tell myself I don't really care but when it comes down to it I care that people think that I may not be doing something right. My husband and I base all of our decisions on God's Will and what he will have for our life. The question we ask ourselves "Are we taking this upon ourselves and out of God's hands by using this medical treatment?" I guess we will really not know the correct answer but we feel it has be laid upon our hearts to proceed. God vs Science, where is the line? God created all the means to have this procedure done, much like cancer treatments and any other medical help you may receive for an illness. So far all of my friends and family have been more supportive than I could of asked for. They are in this just as much as I am, rooting for my husband and I, ready for update details, and praying for us daily.
My husband was researching when he ran across this letter, it is very lengthy but I suggest anyone going through this same struggle or knows some one who is, read it and follow it. It has been so tough to share this with people but even tougher to hear the advice and responses of others.
My husband was researching when he ran across this letter, it is very lengthy but I suggest anyone going through this same struggle or knows some one who is, read it and follow it. It has been so tough to share this with people but even tougher to hear the advice and responses of others.
Dear Family
and Friends,
I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don't understand. This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, helpless, depressed, envious, too serious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.
My infertility makes me feel confused. I always assumed I was fertile. I've spent years avoiding pregnancy and now it seems ironic that I can't conceive. I hope this will be a brief difficulty with a simple solution such as poor timing. I feel confused about whether I want to be pregnant or whether I want to be a parent. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have a baby.
My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my infertility only after I'd been trying to become pregnant for some time. My life-plan suddenly is behind schedule. I waited to become a parent and now I must wait again. I wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for my partner not to be out of town and wait for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old will I be when I finish having my family?
My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns, and I'm frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What if I'm never a parent? What humiliation must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel worse? Why can't my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I'm afraid of my feelings, afraid of my undependable body and afraid of my future.
My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. I stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible is my pain. Even though I'm usually a clear thinker, I find myself being lured by superstitions and promises. I think I'm losing perspective. I feel so alone and I wonder if I'll survive this.
My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my self esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy of a baby? Am I not a good sexual partner? Will my partner want to remain with me? Is this the end of my family lineage? Will my family be ashamed of me? It is easy to lose self-confidence and to feel ashamed.
My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my anger is misdirected. I'm angry at my body because it has betrayed me even though I've always taken care of it. I'm angry at my partner because we can't seem to feel the same about infertility at the same time. I want and need an advocate to help me. I'm angry at my family because they've always sheltered and protected me from terrible pain. My younger sibling is pregnant; my mother wants a family reunion to show off her grandchildren and my grandparents want to pass down family heirlooms. I'm angry at my medical caregivers, because it seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. How can I impress on them how important parenting is to me? I'm angry at my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. My financial resources may determine my family size. My insurance company isn't cooperative, and I must make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills. I can't miss any more work, or I'll lose my job. I can't go to a specialist, because it means more travel time, more missed work, and greater expenses. Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to become a parent. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much.
My infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I've lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of my energy. I've never cried so much nor so easily. I'm sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I'm sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I'm sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands so much energy. Friends with children prefer the company of other families with children. I'm surrounded by babies, pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids' movies, birthday parties and much more. I feel so sad and hopeless. My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Making decisions about my immediate and my long-term future seems impossible. I can't decide about education, career, purchasing a home, pursuing a hobby, getting a pet, vacations, business trips and houseguests. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers or guarantees.
Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I'm learning some helpful ways to cope; I'm now convinced I'm not crazy, and I believe I'll survive. I'm learning to listen to my body and to be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I'm realizing that good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in the same place. I'm trying to be more than an infertile person gaining enthusiasm, joyfulness, and zest for life.
You can help me. I know you care about me and I know my infertility affects our relationship. My sadness causes you sadness; what hurts me, hurts you, too. I believe we can help each other through this sadness. Individually we both seem quite powerless, but together we can be stronger. Maybe some of these hints will help us to better understand infertility.
I need you to be a listener. Talking about my struggle helps me to make decisions. Let me know you are available for me. It's difficult for me to expose my private thoughts if you are rushed or have a deadline for the end of our conversation. Please don't tell me of all the worse things that have happened to others or how easily someone else's infertility was solved. Every case is individual. Please don't just give advice; instead, guide me with your questions. Assure me that you respect my confidences, and then be certain that you deserve my trust. While listening try to maintain an open mind. I need you to be supportive. Understand that my decisions aren't made casually,I've agonized over them. Remind me that you respect these decisions even if you disagree with them, because you know they are made carefully. Don't ask me, "Are you sure?" Repeatedly remind me that you love me no matter what. I need to hear it so badly. Let me know you understand that this is very hard work. Help me realize that I may need additional support from professional caregivers and appropriate organizations. Perhaps you can suggest resources. You might also need support for yourself, and I fear I'm unable to provide it for you; please don't expect me to do so. Help me to keep sight of my goal.
I need you to be comfortable with me, and then I also will feel more comfortable. Talking about infertility sometimes feels awkward. Are you worried you might say the wrong thing? Share those feelings with me. Ask me if I want to talk. Sometimes I will want to, and sometimes I won't, but it will remind me that you care.
I need you to be sensitive. Although I may joke about infertility to help myself cope, it doesn't seem as funny when others joke about it. Please don't tease me with remarks like, "You don't seem to know how to do it." Don't trivialize my struggle by saying, "I'd be glad to give you one of my kids." It's no comfort to hear empty reassurances like, "You'll be a parent by this time next year." Don't minimize my feelings with, "You shouldn't be so unhappy." For now, don't push me into uncomfortable situations like baby showers or family reunions. I already feel sad and guilty; please don't also make me feel guilty for disappointing you.
I need you to be honest with me. Let me know that you may need time to adjust to some of my decisions. I also needed adjustment time. If there are things you don't understand, say so. Please be gentle when you guide me to be realistic about things I can't change such as my age, some medical conditions, financial resources, and employment obligations. Don't hide information about others' pregnancies from me. Although such news makes me feel very sad, it feels worse when you leave me out.
I need you to be informed. Your advice and suggestions are only frustrating to me me if they aren't based on fact. Be well informed so you can educate others when they make remarks based on myths. Don't let anyone tell you that my infertility will be cured if I relax and adopt. Don't tell me this is God's will. Don't ask me to justify my need to parent. Don't criticize my course of action or my choice of physician even though I may do that myself. Reassure yourself that I am also searching for plenty of information which helps me make more knowledgeable decisions about my options.
I need you to be patient. Remember that working through infertility is a process. It takes time. There are no guarantees, no package deals, no complete kits, no one right answer, and no "quickie" choices. My needs change; my choices change. Yesterday I demanded privacy, but today I need you for strength. You have many feelings about infertility, and I do too. Please allow me to have anger, joy, sadness, and hope. Don't minimize or evaluate my feelings. Just allow me to have them, and give me time.
I need you to be strengthening by boosting my self esteem. My sense of worthlessness hampers my ability to take charge. My personal privacy has repeatedly been invaded. I've been subjected to postcoital exams, semen collection in waiting room bathrooms, and tests in rooms next to labor rooms. Enjoyable experiences with you such as a lunch date, a shopping trip, or a visit to a museum help me feel normal.
Encourage me to maintain my sense of humor; guide me to find joys. Celebrate with me my successes, even ones as small as making it through a medical appointment without crying. Remind me that I am more than an infertile person. Help me by sharing your strength.
Eventually I will be beyond the struggle of infertility. I know my infertility will never completely go away because it will change my life. I won't be able to return to the person I was before infertility, but I also will no longer be controlled by this struggle. I will leave the struggle behind me, and from that I will have improved my skills for empathy, patience, resilience, forgiveness, decision-making and self-assessment. I feel grateful that you are trying to ease my journey through this infertility struggle by giving me your understanding.
I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don't understand. This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, helpless, depressed, envious, too serious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.
My infertility makes me feel confused. I always assumed I was fertile. I've spent years avoiding pregnancy and now it seems ironic that I can't conceive. I hope this will be a brief difficulty with a simple solution such as poor timing. I feel confused about whether I want to be pregnant or whether I want to be a parent. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have a baby.
My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my infertility only after I'd been trying to become pregnant for some time. My life-plan suddenly is behind schedule. I waited to become a parent and now I must wait again. I wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for my partner not to be out of town and wait for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old will I be when I finish having my family?
My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns, and I'm frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What if I'm never a parent? What humiliation must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel worse? Why can't my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I'm afraid of my feelings, afraid of my undependable body and afraid of my future.
My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. I stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible is my pain. Even though I'm usually a clear thinker, I find myself being lured by superstitions and promises. I think I'm losing perspective. I feel so alone and I wonder if I'll survive this.
My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my self esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy of a baby? Am I not a good sexual partner? Will my partner want to remain with me? Is this the end of my family lineage? Will my family be ashamed of me? It is easy to lose self-confidence and to feel ashamed.
My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my anger is misdirected. I'm angry at my body because it has betrayed me even though I've always taken care of it. I'm angry at my partner because we can't seem to feel the same about infertility at the same time. I want and need an advocate to help me. I'm angry at my family because they've always sheltered and protected me from terrible pain. My younger sibling is pregnant; my mother wants a family reunion to show off her grandchildren and my grandparents want to pass down family heirlooms. I'm angry at my medical caregivers, because it seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. How can I impress on them how important parenting is to me? I'm angry at my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. My financial resources may determine my family size. My insurance company isn't cooperative, and I must make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills. I can't miss any more work, or I'll lose my job. I can't go to a specialist, because it means more travel time, more missed work, and greater expenses. Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to become a parent. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much.
My infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I've lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of my energy. I've never cried so much nor so easily. I'm sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I'm sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I'm sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands so much energy. Friends with children prefer the company of other families with children. I'm surrounded by babies, pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids' movies, birthday parties and much more. I feel so sad and hopeless. My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Making decisions about my immediate and my long-term future seems impossible. I can't decide about education, career, purchasing a home, pursuing a hobby, getting a pet, vacations, business trips and houseguests. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers or guarantees.
Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I'm learning some helpful ways to cope; I'm now convinced I'm not crazy, and I believe I'll survive. I'm learning to listen to my body and to be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I'm realizing that good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in the same place. I'm trying to be more than an infertile person gaining enthusiasm, joyfulness, and zest for life.
You can help me. I know you care about me and I know my infertility affects our relationship. My sadness causes you sadness; what hurts me, hurts you, too. I believe we can help each other through this sadness. Individually we both seem quite powerless, but together we can be stronger. Maybe some of these hints will help us to better understand infertility.
I need you to be a listener. Talking about my struggle helps me to make decisions. Let me know you are available for me. It's difficult for me to expose my private thoughts if you are rushed or have a deadline for the end of our conversation. Please don't tell me of all the worse things that have happened to others or how easily someone else's infertility was solved. Every case is individual. Please don't just give advice; instead, guide me with your questions. Assure me that you respect my confidences, and then be certain that you deserve my trust. While listening try to maintain an open mind. I need you to be supportive. Understand that my decisions aren't made casually,I've agonized over them. Remind me that you respect these decisions even if you disagree with them, because you know they are made carefully. Don't ask me, "Are you sure?" Repeatedly remind me that you love me no matter what. I need to hear it so badly. Let me know you understand that this is very hard work. Help me realize that I may need additional support from professional caregivers and appropriate organizations. Perhaps you can suggest resources. You might also need support for yourself, and I fear I'm unable to provide it for you; please don't expect me to do so. Help me to keep sight of my goal.
I need you to be comfortable with me, and then I also will feel more comfortable. Talking about infertility sometimes feels awkward. Are you worried you might say the wrong thing? Share those feelings with me. Ask me if I want to talk. Sometimes I will want to, and sometimes I won't, but it will remind me that you care.
I need you to be sensitive. Although I may joke about infertility to help myself cope, it doesn't seem as funny when others joke about it. Please don't tease me with remarks like, "You don't seem to know how to do it." Don't trivialize my struggle by saying, "I'd be glad to give you one of my kids." It's no comfort to hear empty reassurances like, "You'll be a parent by this time next year." Don't minimize my feelings with, "You shouldn't be so unhappy." For now, don't push me into uncomfortable situations like baby showers or family reunions. I already feel sad and guilty; please don't also make me feel guilty for disappointing you.
I need you to be honest with me. Let me know that you may need time to adjust to some of my decisions. I also needed adjustment time. If there are things you don't understand, say so. Please be gentle when you guide me to be realistic about things I can't change such as my age, some medical conditions, financial resources, and employment obligations. Don't hide information about others' pregnancies from me. Although such news makes me feel very sad, it feels worse when you leave me out.
I need you to be informed. Your advice and suggestions are only frustrating to me me if they aren't based on fact. Be well informed so you can educate others when they make remarks based on myths. Don't let anyone tell you that my infertility will be cured if I relax and adopt. Don't tell me this is God's will. Don't ask me to justify my need to parent. Don't criticize my course of action or my choice of physician even though I may do that myself. Reassure yourself that I am also searching for plenty of information which helps me make more knowledgeable decisions about my options.
I need you to be patient. Remember that working through infertility is a process. It takes time. There are no guarantees, no package deals, no complete kits, no one right answer, and no "quickie" choices. My needs change; my choices change. Yesterday I demanded privacy, but today I need you for strength. You have many feelings about infertility, and I do too. Please allow me to have anger, joy, sadness, and hope. Don't minimize or evaluate my feelings. Just allow me to have them, and give me time.
I need you to be strengthening by boosting my self esteem. My sense of worthlessness hampers my ability to take charge. My personal privacy has repeatedly been invaded. I've been subjected to postcoital exams, semen collection in waiting room bathrooms, and tests in rooms next to labor rooms. Enjoyable experiences with you such as a lunch date, a shopping trip, or a visit to a museum help me feel normal.
Encourage me to maintain my sense of humor; guide me to find joys. Celebrate with me my successes, even ones as small as making it through a medical appointment without crying. Remind me that I am more than an infertile person. Help me by sharing your strength.
Eventually I will be beyond the struggle of infertility. I know my infertility will never completely go away because it will change my life. I won't be able to return to the person I was before infertility, but I also will no longer be controlled by this struggle. I will leave the struggle behind me, and from that I will have improved my skills for empathy, patience, resilience, forgiveness, decision-making and self-assessment. I feel grateful that you are trying to ease my journey through this infertility struggle by giving me your understanding.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Logically Thinking
As on board as we were with the adoption path we still had medication that was very costly left over, enough to do another cycle. So I gave myself a pep talk and scheduled the appointments for the next month. I went to the doctor by myself as my husband was still in Panama, and the doctor performed the ultrasound after my blood draw. In the ultrasound he found a cyst and stopped this months procedure. I was devastated, yet relieved I didn't have to subject myself to the agony. This break gave me enough time to change my attitude for the next month.
When we talked to Dr. Cooper he explained that a possible risk of this medication would be that I overstimulated, which meant I would produce more than 5 follicles and in that case we would have to convert to IVF. The IVF talk had been thrown around between my husband and I but felt we rather use that money for adoption which would result in a baby verse the chance of a baby with IVF. However a light bulb thought hit me and made me think what if we overstimulated on purpose and had to convert to IVF, would the cost be less? Our insurance covered a portion of everything non IVF, so the minute we start labeling it as IVF it was out of pocket. We talked with Dr. Cooper about this option and he was on board. We were pumped. One small problem. We had planned a vacation in Miami during the time I would need to be on bed rest for the transfer. So, we did another normal round of the insemination hoping it would result in the newly revised plan.
It did not work so we were set to do the conversion in August. I know it seems we flip flopped on what we had originally planned but we both decided a) would we rather spend the $6500 on the IVF conversion and it work verse the $40,000 on adoption and b) would we always have that thought in the back of our mind what if we just did the IVF and it was successful?
When we talked to Dr. Cooper he explained that a possible risk of this medication would be that I overstimulated, which meant I would produce more than 5 follicles and in that case we would have to convert to IVF. The IVF talk had been thrown around between my husband and I but felt we rather use that money for adoption which would result in a baby verse the chance of a baby with IVF. However a light bulb thought hit me and made me think what if we overstimulated on purpose and had to convert to IVF, would the cost be less? Our insurance covered a portion of everything non IVF, so the minute we start labeling it as IVF it was out of pocket. We talked with Dr. Cooper about this option and he was on board. We were pumped. One small problem. We had planned a vacation in Miami during the time I would need to be on bed rest for the transfer. So, we did another normal round of the insemination hoping it would result in the newly revised plan.
It did not work so we were set to do the conversion in August. I know it seems we flip flopped on what we had originally planned but we both decided a) would we rather spend the $6500 on the IVF conversion and it work verse the $40,000 on adoption and b) would we always have that thought in the back of our mind what if we just did the IVF and it was successful?
We wait.....
With this new procedure we were again hopeful, however I kept my reservations. My husband was actually going to be in Panama when I found out if it worked and had a plan in my head of how I was going to share the information with him.
I didn't get to use the plan. I started my period 3 days early and had to break the news to him over the phone. It was really hard to not have him there to lean on and be alone as I know he felt the same way.
After this failed attempt I was done. I did not want to go through it again, scheduling appointments, missing work, relying on others, and the needles.
I have a great friend that I had talked to a few months prior about our back up plan. Adoption. I don't like to look at it as a Plan B or something we have to settle with, however, that is slightly how it was looking. My friend messaged many friends she knew that had adopted and asked them to share thier stories with me. This was GREAT. I was so encouraged and inspired. I felt that this was a road I could go down and be very happy with. I had emailed a couple of contacts that they had given me and had a pretty firm plan B ready to go if we continued to be unsuccessful. After this months failure I made the call. I had them send paperwork, got financial information, and was ready to pursue.
Like I mentioned earlier my husband was in Panama. He was there with our church group helping with the orphanage's in that area. This trip really laid in on his heart the option of adoption. He fell in love with the children over there and knew he could love any child. This was a great break through for us both.
I didn't get to use the plan. I started my period 3 days early and had to break the news to him over the phone. It was really hard to not have him there to lean on and be alone as I know he felt the same way.
After this failed attempt I was done. I did not want to go through it again, scheduling appointments, missing work, relying on others, and the needles.
I have a great friend that I had talked to a few months prior about our back up plan. Adoption. I don't like to look at it as a Plan B or something we have to settle with, however, that is slightly how it was looking. My friend messaged many friends she knew that had adopted and asked them to share thier stories with me. This was GREAT. I was so encouraged and inspired. I felt that this was a road I could go down and be very happy with. I had emailed a couple of contacts that they had given me and had a pretty firm plan B ready to go if we continued to be unsuccessful. After this months failure I made the call. I had them send paperwork, got financial information, and was ready to pursue.
Like I mentioned earlier my husband was in Panama. He was there with our church group helping with the orphanage's in that area. This trip really laid in on his heart the option of adoption. He fell in love with the children over there and knew he could love any child. This was a great break through for us both.
IUI
We went to meet with Dr. Cooper in May and he guided us down a new hopeful path. I was convinced that this would be the last infertility treatment that I would do. This month we were going to do IUI, artificial insemination, but while using an injectable medication. The medication was Follistim. The drug is used to create more foliciles per cycle. If you don't know how the natural process works here's a quick review.
Each month we produce one follicle which houses the one egg. This rotates from ovary to ovary each cycle. So if the quality of your follicle is poor the chances of conceiving are poor as well. Well what the follistim does is creates 1-5 follicles between your 2 ovaries. It is very tricky to do this so much monitoring is required.
On days 3,6,8,10 of my cycle I had to go to Mid Iowa and have my blood drawn and an ultrasound completed. The ultrasound was vaginally and this was done to look at the follicles, measure them and count how many. Then the blood work is done to test my estrogen level to make sure it is matching up with the results of the ultrasound.
This may not sound like a big deal but let me tell you, I work 7-3 during the week and overnights on the weekends. It is very unlikely that I am just sitting around able to attend a doctors appointment at the drop of a hat. Not to mention the office only performed these appointments from 9a-11a. This made it very difficult to find coverage from my shifts. Also, I am an apparent hard stick, which means, I have small rolling veins that are hard to find and get blood from. Most appointments required two different attempts. I guess it has made me tougher though right?
Oh, I also forgot to mention that the Follistim is administered subcutaneously. A needle in my abdomen. These shots started on day 3 and continued to usually day 10 or when they felt your eggs were of adequate size. On day 10 they told me that they were good to go and that I would need to perform my trigger shot. These shots "triggered" my ovulation. I had to do two, one in each side of my abdomen. Let me tell you how hard it is to force yourself to do those shots!! Yikes! The clinic did hold classes for all of this information as it is all so overwhelming.
36 hours from the administration of the trigger shot is insemination time. They perform this the same way as before when I was on the oral medication.
Each month we produce one follicle which houses the one egg. This rotates from ovary to ovary each cycle. So if the quality of your follicle is poor the chances of conceiving are poor as well. Well what the follistim does is creates 1-5 follicles between your 2 ovaries. It is very tricky to do this so much monitoring is required.
On days 3,6,8,10 of my cycle I had to go to Mid Iowa and have my blood drawn and an ultrasound completed. The ultrasound was vaginally and this was done to look at the follicles, measure them and count how many. Then the blood work is done to test my estrogen level to make sure it is matching up with the results of the ultrasound.
This may not sound like a big deal but let me tell you, I work 7-3 during the week and overnights on the weekends. It is very unlikely that I am just sitting around able to attend a doctors appointment at the drop of a hat. Not to mention the office only performed these appointments from 9a-11a. This made it very difficult to find coverage from my shifts. Also, I am an apparent hard stick, which means, I have small rolling veins that are hard to find and get blood from. Most appointments required two different attempts. I guess it has made me tougher though right?
Oh, I also forgot to mention that the Follistim is administered subcutaneously. A needle in my abdomen. These shots started on day 3 and continued to usually day 10 or when they felt your eggs were of adequate size. On day 10 they told me that they were good to go and that I would need to perform my trigger shot. These shots "triggered" my ovulation. I had to do two, one in each side of my abdomen. Let me tell you how hard it is to force yourself to do those shots!! Yikes! The clinic did hold classes for all of this information as it is all so overwhelming.
36 hours from the administration of the trigger shot is insemination time. They perform this the same way as before when I was on the oral medication.
March and April
March 2012 is when I had the laparscopic surgery done. We were told that with the significant amount of tissue that was removed we should try naturally for the next 2 months. After March was unsuccessful we still held high hopes for April, we were told I may need a month to bounce back. This was a hard one though. April was another disappointment. This month I struggled hard core. My sister announced to me that she was expecting her second child and was excited for us to be pregnant at the same time. We planned way to much that this month was the month and when my period came my world came crashing down. I was so sure that this was the month that I had not accepted the possibility that it may not work. This is the month that changed my perspective. I became very pestimistic about future treatment and wanted to be finished with all future treatments.
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