One in a Million

There's a Party in My Ovaries, and Everyone's Invited!

I woke up this morning excited for what was to be my final ultrasound before tomorrow's IUI. I was hoping for 5-6 mature follicles. And I was really looking forward to being done with the follistim and cetrotide.

Well, apparently my ovaries were a couple of wild and crazy girls over the weekend. They got shamefully drunk on follistim--shamefully!--and are now full to the brim of large follicles, at least 7-10 per ovary. Which, if we went ahead with the IUI, would just about guarantee me a Dateline special with Ann Curry, or a grueling and heart-wrenching decision about reduction. It would not have been ethical to unleash my husband's most virile swimmers on my drunken ovary-whores.

Things were looking grim when the NP asked if we'd ever considered IVF. "Considered? Hell yes! But I have no gold bullion!" was my initial response, but fortunately my internal censor was working, and I was able to demur, "Oh, we'd love to do IVF. But we can't afford it, and our insurance won't cover it, and we're not eligible for the state grant program until we fail this IUI and the next two, too. So sad. Very sad." The NP, who was a crafty sort, said, "Oh, there's always a way." She disappeared, and the next hour was filled with rushed consults and baited breath as the staff went over my charts with a fine-toothed comb. And light dawned on marble head when my RE realized that the severity of my endometriosis when it was discovered 19 months ago made me eligible for the state grant.

We're going to do--no, we ARE doing IVF! In, like, four days! I'll keep stimming tonight and tomorrow; another ultrasound on Wednesday; and retrieval on Friday (probably). I'm ridiculously excited and will be spending an awful lot of time over the next few days trying to temper my expectations. I feel very lucky right now.

TTC, or My Personal Journey through Infertility Hell

Here's the short & not-so-sweet recap of our TTC Adventures to date.

11/04--My periods, which have never been pleasant, become paralyzing. Massive clots and massive cramps lead to 2-4 days a month curled up in the fetal position on the (bloody) bathroom floor.

12/04-5/05--Those pesky periods keep getting worse. I keep fighting for a diagnosis and treatment. Thanks to the lovely ladies of IB, I realize that all my symptoms match endometriosis. I follow their advice to Dr. M, the endo surgeon who changes my life.

6/05--One four-hour laparoscopy later, I am endo free! My ovaries, uterus, bladder, and rectum thank me. Adios, adhesions! Dr. M tells me to waste no time trying to conceive. Since I was already baby-hungry, this is music to my ears. Despite having Level IV endo, an HSG performed during the lap reveals that my tubes are perfectly clear--a miracle for which I am very grateful.

7/05--Start trying to conceive! Angels sing! Flowers bloom! My husband and I come together in perfect unity to conceive the child of our love! A faint second line thrills me, but disappears the next day. Chalk it up to Chemical Pregnancy #1.

9/05--Third cycle's the charm. I get pregnant and it sticks...and sticks...sticks...through weeks of morning sickness, massive boobs, and a beautiful ultrasound (heartbeat strong and happy) that brings me to tears.

11/05--There's nothing like a 12-week miscarriage to shatter your dreams. After a night of excruciating pain, I pass the fetus at home, begin to hemorrhage, and spend the day in the ER. Morphine is my friend as pitocin and methergine finish purging my uterus. Nothing, however, can assuage the anguish.

12/05--Dear Santa, I have been very good. Please make my betas fall swiftly. Please let all my bloodwork for recurrent pregnancy loss come back normal. I would also like a pony.

1/06--Start trying again. I am as militant as a drill sergeant, and my husband is as cowed as a new recruit. Our joyless sex seems to have paid off when we see a faint second line on the test. But less than a week later, the line is gone, and the bleeding begins. Welcome to CP #2.

3/06--Low levels of Protein S lead us to believe that I have a clotting disorder. We also learn that all hematologists are vampires. What a clever front!

6/06--After a 3-month TTC hiatus, we're back in the saddle again. I'm excited and hopeful! I have tons of pregnancy symptoms and a triphasic chart! My period is three days late! I think that's a second line! But it gets no darker. If you guessed CP #3, you're absolutely correct!

8/06--Pregnant again, and full of hope. Surely this one will work out! Except, it doesn't. Hello, CP #4.

10/06--First visit with the RE, Dr. Needs-A-New-Boat. Everyone is brimming with confidence about my ability to get pregnant and carry a baby to term. Dr. NANB decides to order a few extra tests, including genetic karyotypes for my husband and me.

11/06--Apparently when Dr. NANB calls, it's bad news. And so my mutant nature is revealed: I have a balanced Robertsonian translocation between chromosomes 13 and 22. Dr. NANB says I have a less than 5% chance of conceiving a genetically normal baby on my own. He recommends IVF with PGD, and wonders if I have a sister who could donate eggs. It looks hopeless, as I have neither a sister nor insurance coverage for IVF nor stacks of gold bullion. This is the bleakest moment of our TTC journey to date--made bleaker by yet another chemical pregnancy.

12/06--After consulting with another specialist, Dr. Google, and three genetic counselors, hope returns. Dr. NANB is actually not that smart about my condition. It's a simple matter of playing the odds. Kiss the dice, baby, Mama needs an egg with good genes! We embark on a cycle of IUI with injectibles to increase the number of eggs. Three beautiful follicles, two painful weeks of Lovenox injections, and all I have to show for it is another chemical pregnancy. Well, I also have a belly full of bruises. And a large ovarian cyst! Christmas came early this year, kids!

1/07--After three weeks of birth control pills (and daily nausea and spotting), I'm back in the stirrups again. Another IUI with injectibles--this time at double the dose. I'm cautiously optimistic, and bracing myself for whatever comes next.