Our Secret Cycle

This cycle has been so different in so many ways… primarily the fact that we’ve told no one, other than my immediate supervisor, so I could arrange for the necessary time off. My branch manager is a dear, but she’s not great with confidentiality or privacy and I’d prefer no one at work know. As for everyone else… well, if things go as they did last time and this is a total bust, I’d just rather grieve alone, with no obligation to report to anyone else or manage their feelings.

I was considering not even recording my experience this time, as it’s been so wildly different, I can’t imagine it actually being relevant next time, but who knows what Future Belle will wish I’d tracked. Although the medication hasn’t changed and the dosages are similar, I’ve had a near opposite experience this time. Instead of energizing me to the point of wired exhaustion, I’ve just been completely and utterly drained, both physically and emotionally. I’ve had my lows, sure, but mostly, I’ve been unable to muster up any feeling at all. It is what it is and we may never be parents. Perhaps if I let myself truly acknowledge that, I won’t be able to go on with this process, because it sucks.

I trigger tonight, with my retrieval scheduled for November 3rd… election day. Zetus lapetus, this has been a terrible year. An historic ice storm hit last week, just after we started medications which must be refrigerated. The library was closed for four days and I spent every moment of them praying we’d keep power, and therefore water, because if we had to go stay with someone, we’d have to share that we were in the middle of another cycle. We were lucky. While the power flickered, we never lost it. Many people have been without for a week. Politically, this year is far more divisive than 2016 and I didn’t think that would be possible. As the pandemic hits new highs, tensions rise, along with our Covid-19 cases. We just broke our daily record, with well over 2,000. If there was ever a worst time to be going through IVF, this is it.

Well, for better or for worse, we’ve switched things up a bit, this cycle, and it’ll all be over soon.

Again…

It failed. Nothing to freeze. We start shots again in 17 days and I’m already falling apart.

Perks and Deficits

Perks to Going Through IVF During a Pandemic

I don’t see children. I don’t see moms come in with little ones and babies for story time, because we’re not open to the public. I don’t see my nieces or cousins’ kids. I can largely avoid the longing that these encounters bring.

I don’t have to go to baby showers or weddings, where people will inevitably ask me when we’re having kids and I’ll shut it down in a way that makes them equally uncomfortable, but gets Belle talked about for the next five years.

I’m not spending my money on much, since there’s nothing to do, so I can make larger payments on the tens of thousands of dollars multiple rounds of IVF will cost.

Everyone is getting fat, so no one has noticed the bloating and larger breasts caused by the copious amounts of fertility drugs. We’re all wearing frumpy clothes, so no one has picked up on the depression.

I’m working from home about half the time, so I don’t have to pretend with my coworkers as much. I don’t have to answer as many questions when I am out. When the test is negative, it won’t be as noticeable when I’m gone for three days.

I don’t have to see Jake’s or my family. I don’t have to see the looks of sympathy or answer questions. I don’t have to hear more installments on why this is hurting Jake’s mom and sister. I don’t have to wonder if Jake’s aunt knows.

Deficits to Going Through IVF During a Pandemic

I don’t have enough to keep my mind occupied. I’m at work right now, with literally nothing to do. I have no programs to work on or outreach to brainstorm. I have no community connections to build. I can’t concentrate enough to read or listen to audiobooks most days. I sit and I think about the test being negative, whether or not I’m willing to try this again, for the cost, the emotional and physical toll, the fact that Jake is apparently incapable of following through with an agreement to keep his mouth shut about our test date. I slip and imagine a positive for a moment and I think about how much more devastating it will be when there’s only one line.

I have to avoid everything. I can’t watch movies and shows with babies and kids, which is basically all of them these days. I can’t watch kids’ movies or escape with Harry Potter, or I’ll start to cry because I won’t be able to share them with my own children, as I’d always planned. I have all the time in the world and very little I can do with it, for fear of triggering a prayer-filled crying jag.

I have to assume I’m pregnant, despite my fight to assume I’m not so I won’t be disappointed. I can’t drink more than one cup of coffee or get drive-through soda. I can’t have a drink to calm my nerves or take medical marijuana to sleep or calm my anxiety. I can’t go for long walks, because I might overheat. I can’t go shopping or out to eat or see the limited family and friends I might want to see, because I can’t get Covid-19 even more than if I’m not pregnant. I can’t do these things when the test is negative, because while I don’t know what or when the next step will be, I can’t risk delaying it over an extended illness or the hospital bills that accompany it.

My tolerance level is at zero. I cannot deal with the coworker who won’t back off or the book snob on Reddit. Both political parties tick me off and stress me out, but it’s an election year. I’m already beyond stressed, but oh yeah, we’re in a global pandemic. Everything my husband says and does is wrong or cruel.

2020. Covid-19. Infertility.

Bad News Pending

I’m in this awful place right now, where I’m just dreading testing. I feel like it’ll be the final nail in the coffin. This will all be over and all of our money will be gone. Not only will that be devastating, but then I’ll have to inform the few people who knew what was going on, that it didn’t work. They’ll either be horribly disappointed on their own behalf, with secondary consideration for Jake and me, or I’ll become the IVF Failure story they tell anecdotally.

I’m so angry at Jake right now. I didn’t even tell my Gramma that the pregnancy test was next week. I told her that she’ll find out when I want to share, one way or another. Jake, after agreeing not to give his parents this detail, told his mother last week. Now his parents, substantial investors in our fertility, will be waiting for an update… as I’m sure will his sister, since his mother tells her everything. When the test is negative, Jake will have to tell them all right away, because they’ll otherwise assume it’s positive. I won’t even have a week to grieve and process, before everyone wants an update on our next steps or feels they should share input for how this effects them. That is everyone’s favorite topic, of course: how our infertility impacts their lives.

I don’t particularly want to consider that the test might be positive, but if it is, then Jake’s parents will assume as much, because he won’t tell them otherwise. Regardless, they’d demand to know, since they paid for over half of the treatment. His parents have no idea how this process works. His mother spelled S-E-X a few weeks ago. There was no reason to tell them we’d know so soon. He could have bought us a minimum of six weeks and now there’s even more pressure on me than I already felt. If we lose all of this money, it’s because my body let us down. When we lose our babies, it’s because I failed. All I wanted was a few weeks to process this before having to tell everyone and he took that from me. At this point, I’m just ready for this whole thing to be over.

Hopeless

I simultaneously feel like I’ve completely given up hope, but also that I’ll be absolutely devastated when this cycle is a confirmed failure. Everything I’ve read says we should have frozen our embryos, though our doctor seemed to think that wouldn’t change our chances in any notable way. He is a professor at a competitive medical school, so maybe there’s some merit? Regardless, everything online says it never happens the first time. I assumed we’d have a few frozen trials at least, but if we are indeed not pregnant, our only option is to start over in a couple of months.

This has been so much harder on me than I thought it would be… and as you can see, from my other posts, I never thought it would be easy. I used to watch A Baby Story on TLC, as a television addicted teenager. Then I’d watch John and Kate Plus Eight. The stars of these shows would occasionally give an overview of their fertility issues and ever since, it has literally been one of my worst nightmares to go through this. I did not have high hopes. Still, I’ve been in some level of pain and discomfort since the egg retrieval over a week ago. My ovaries are swollen and the progesterone shots leave my lower back perpetually sore. I’ve been nauseous and dizzy and I think I might have a very mild case of OHSS… or it’s just the side effects from all the drugs. It’s a delightful mystery.

All of this is to say nothing of the emotional trauma of feeling like my body is killing my only surviving embryos, like I’m going to let everyone down, like it’s never going to happen. It’s also to say nothing of the cost. Jake is determined to try again, but I’m not entirely sure where he’s going to get those funds. The plan is to put down another thousand dollars on a new date, after we get an official negative, and then… figure it out. We’ll likely be starting a new cycle around the holidays. Zetus lapetus, 2020 is the worst year.

I’ve tried to stay out of the online infertility community. It’s bleak, at best. But I do know that there are many women who spend their two week wait pretending that they’re pregnant and refer to it as “Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise.” I don’t know why anyone would get their hopes up like that. I’m already planning next steps and I’m a week away from my pregnancy test. I’m dreading the news, so much. Jake will have to tell his parents that the $8,000 they gave us was completely wasted. I’ll have to tell my Gramma that there won’t be any babies any time soon. I won’t be able to get out of bed for several days. The depression is the worst. It wastes so much time. At least, once it’s a confirmed failure, I can take as much medical marijuana as I like, to dull the pain. All my life, I’ve yearned for parents, like everyone else has, and never gotten them. Now, I get to yearn for children, like everyone else has, and never get them.

I’ve looked into other options, like sperm donors and private adoption. Jake’s not ready for donor sperm, though, and private adoption costs more than trying this two more times… so I guess that’s what we’ll do. I’ll continue to drag my feet through this process, entirely expecting heartbreak, only to be knocked off those feet anyway, when it happens. Next time, we’ll freeze all.

Day 5: Day of Transfer

Before Transfer

I’ve been crying on and off all weekend, petrified that something happened to our embryos over the last two days, torn between a single embryo transfer and a double embryo transfer, devastated at the thought of the embryos not taking and my body killing our children. Morally, ethically, and scientifically they’re alive to me. I’d have all seven of them over time, if I could. It’s not up to me, though. Whether or not the transfer takes is entirely out of my control. I can eat healthier and drink more water and cut the caffeine. I can pray exhaustively, until I’m in tears. That’s… pretty much it. Whatever will be, will be, and I have it on good authority that these things rarely happen on the first try.

Also, if my husband tells me one more time that I shouldn’t stress out, because it’s really bad when trying to breed cattle, I’m going to punch him in his useless testicles.

After Transer

It’s over. The process was… quick, to say the least. I thought I’d get the chance to sit down with my doctor and discuss our embryos, but I didn’t see him until I was naked from the waist down. It turns out, only two of the seven made it to Day 5 blastocysts, one in excellent condition and the other in good condition. Since we thought we’d have some to freeze, we’d already decided on transferring two, and since Jake was in the car, we didn’t get the opportunity to reevaluate together. My knee jerk reaction was to go with what we’d already agreed upon. Going through all of this without Jake is so awful, every step of the way.

The procedure itself was awkward and painful. Women talk about how it was enjoyable, but my ovaries were so swollen, I found it to be anything but, especially with five people looking at my vagina. I tried to show Jake the ultrasound on video call, but he couldn’t really make anything out. For that matter, I could only tell that the little white dots were embryos when the nurse pointed them out to me. They gave me photos of the embryos, but I immediately asked them to put them in an envelope, since I don’t want to look at them unless I know if they’ve survived to pregnancy. Everything felt rushed and uncomfortable and then… it was over. I’ll either be pregnant or I won’t and there’s nothing I can do about it, other than to plan financially for a second cycle. I’ve agreed to do another, if Jake can fund it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him and it’s not like I have an abundance of choices. Now, we wait.

Day 2

7 Embryos

3 A’s
2 B’s
2 C’s

One nurse who doesn’t know how to read an embryologist’s report.

I was devastated yesterday, when the nurse called and told me that we “only” had seven surviving embryos, because Jake’s sperm was so poor. I assumed that meant those wouldn’t make it, either, since I’m pretty limited in my knowledge of… embryology? Apparently she was, too, however, because when Jake called the clinic today, because his wife wouldn’t get out of bed, he was told that we were doing well with just under half of our mature eggs making it through ICSI. Our embryos hadn’t been graded yet, but they weren’t concerned that they’d die overnight. Meanwhile, I was Googling sperm donors and trying to figure out how we’d come up with another $15,000 to try again, between naps. I was certain we’d been through all of this for nothing and I was still in a lot of discomfort from my retrieval.

The nurse called me in the afternoon, however, with the results of the embryo grading. Apparently they never give A’s and we had three. Most pregnancies are from B’s and we had two. We’re scheduled for a Day Five Transfer and won’t hear anything else over the weekend.

Day 1

27 Follicles

21 Eggs Retrieved

16 Mature

7 Fertilized Normally

This was all for nothing.

It’s over.

It’s over. I made it through my cycle, without a Covid-19 cancellation resulting in our losing everything. It was a real possibility, considering we signed a form stating that we knew this could happen, if certain conditions were met. These included Jake or I showing symptoms of Covid-19 or someone in the clinic staff contracting it. For the last two weeks, I’ve been taking my temperature several times a day. I’ve taken leave from work and worked from home to avoid even that exposure and have only been to the store a handful of times. Jake even spoke to his supervisor about making arrangements to ride alone in his truck until the retrieval was complete, since rural city workers aren’t big on masks.

My ultrasounds went well, from the start. I seem to have responded nicely to the medications all along. On Friday, I upped my Follistim from 150ml to 225ml and added in a unit of Ganirelix, a fun new medication with a really dull needle. Were I interested in perusing r/IVF, I’d have known this, but since all of those stories are from 42-year-olds on their seventh cycles, I’ve been avoiding the doom and gloom. I only discovered the delight of a dull needle when Jake literally couldn’t pierce the skin the first time. I started icing the area after that and dubbed my injections Stabby Time.

I went for another ultrasound on Saturday, where I learned that I looked like a creature from a sci-fi movie. I had egg sacs. It was weird and gross and uncomfortable… and apparently a really good sign. I got to repeat this process on Monday, when I was told I had 10 follicles on one side, 17 on the other, and that Jake could administer my trigger shot of Pregnyl at precisely 10:00 that night. There was no Stabby Time yesterday, a nice reprieve, because if all goes well, we’re looking at daily intramuscular injections of progesterone until 10 weeks of pregnancy. If I’m not pregnant after the transfer, then it’ll be two weeks of needless shots until I discover that fact.

I didn’t sleep well last night, my ovaries feeling as though they were the size of walnuts and my anxiety resulting in my waking up at 5:30, unable to eat or drink anything. I had to be at the clinic at 8:00, with the actual procedure scheduled for precisely 9:00. Jake waited in the car until then, when he had to give his semen sample in the masturbatorium. It would be an understatement to tell you that it was awful. At one point, as I sat in the bed talking with the anesthesiologist, Nurse Shakey Hands apologized profusely for the third try to start an IV, when I have great veins. I assured her it was fine and stared straight ahead thinking about the fact that I was waiting to have my vaginal walls pierced with a large needle twice, terrified and alone in a pre-op room, because pandemic precautions forbade my husband from being by my side. The blood that was literally spurting from the back of my hand was the least of my concerns as I prayed a silent mantra for the doctor to retrieve plenty of eggs, so I could potentially never have to do this again. 

The last memory I have is putting my earbuds away and pausing Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, wondering if I’d ever get to read those books to my own children, and speaking to the doctor about the procedure. Then I woke up, petrified and wanting Jake, but knowing he couldn’t be with me. My stomach hurt and I had to use my inhaler, I was in such a panic coming out of the anesthesia, but the doctor told me they’d retrieved 21 eggs and were optimistic that I’d be able to have the ideal Day 5 Transfer.

I read somewhere that IVF was a lot of hurry up and wait and I’m finding that to be very much true, likely more so in a pandemic. Although the number sounds good, I won’t know anything about the quality of my eggs, until tomorrow, when they call to tell me if they’re fertilizing normally. I won’t know whether we’ll have a Day 3 Transfer or a Day 5 Transfer until Friday. I won’t know how many blastocysts we’ll have until Monday, if we have any at all. At that time, I’ll learn whether or not we’ll be able to freeze embryos for future attempts. Until then, I can comfort myself with the knowledge that the worst, most expensive and precarious part is behind me. From here on out, I can do nothing to change the outcome of my embryos’ progression. It is out of my hands and now… we wait to find out if it was worth it.

Wrenches

I’m supposed to chronicle this “adventure.” That’s the point of this blog: to process my feelings and emotions, to eventually share it with others who are going through the same trials and can only find horror stories online, to show it to the children who might never exist. Yet, I feel like any reports I give could potentially jinx everything, when there are enough wrenches that could be thrown into this complex process. IVF has literally been one of my worst nightmares, since I obsessively watched A Baby Story on TLC in high school. IVF during a global pandemic… it’s like a Family Guy cutaway, at my expense.

I started my shots last Saturday, with 150 daily millilitres of Follistim and 1 unit of Menopur for the low, low price of approximately $4,000. Having grown up giving shots to livestock, Jake does the injections for me. I haven’t had a real aversion to needles since I was six years old, which is handy, since I also have to have blood work done every three days. I suppose the medication itself isn’t so bad. I find it nearly impossible to sleep, feeling like I’ve had a caffeine injection, despite only getting a few hours in each night. I feel like I did in grad school, when I’d go for three days straight and down enough Five Hour Energy to stop my heart. The doctor told me I can take Benadryl, though, and that’s helped… a little. I’ve had a couple of epic headaches and mood swings that could just as easily be attributed to the stress and fatigue. All in all, I expected much worse.

The doctor seems pleased with my reaction to the medication, based on his response to the blood work and the ultrasounds. I’ve lost all modesty in this process, no longer embarrassed that my doctor is a dude. I’d show my vagina to a packed stadium if it would guarantee success. Regardless, he hasn’t had to change any of the dosages unexpectedly. He seems positive. I wish I felt the same way… maybe… I don’t know. Perhaps it’s best to be mostly pessimistic. I can always work backward from there.

I haven’t been going into work, expect for on Tuesday mornings and Thursday evenings. I could probably work through all of this, were it not for Covid-19, the biggest wrench of them all; because although they’ve resumed treatment, any signs of infection mean a canceled cycle with no refunds for services rendered. We could literally lose everything. I’d rather take the leave, even if I miss the distraction of my coworkers. I’ve finished rereading most of The Sorcerer’s Stone and made some great progress watching The Witches of East End. I’ve walked a lot. The cat and dog are thrilled to have me home. I’ve been able to continue my programming from home, so I don’t have to completely drain the hours I’ve built up, in my nine years with the system. I still get to see my teens… through Zoom.

These are truly terrible silver linings.

Jake and I finally got the results of his urinalysis back. As a standard procedure, the clinic requires blood work and urine samples from both of us, to make sure we have no infectious diseases. I haven’t done anything to catch any, aside from have sex with my husband who once started drunkenly naming rodeos when I asked if he could name the women he’d been with… that is, unless someone actually named their daughter Pretty Prairie. The odds of Jake or I having had undiagnosed chlamydia or gonorrhea were mighty slim, but then again, so were the odds of his sperm count being in the hundreds of thousands. I’ve been sick all week at the thought that we might have to postpone, while he takes antibiotics to rid himself of his whorin’ days. I’ve been angry and hurt that I could go through IVF, my literal worst nightmare, which I fear is going to break me, but Jake couldn’t pee in a cup four years ago. Logically, I knew the chances of this being an issue were low… but it was a rough week and I don’t fully understand why they wouldn’t have done these tests weeks ago, when they put me on birth control.

I have blood work and an ultrasound in the morning, at 8:00 on a Saturday. They’ll tell me how much more medicine to order, if needed. They’ll schedule more appointments and possibly my retrieval. So… that’s where I am: in the middle of an IVF cycle in the middle of a global pandemic, hoping and praying I don’t get Covid-19 or a fever in the next week.