One in a Million

Goodbye, Sweetest Heart

The bad news has begun. Baby B has died.

I have felt all along that Baby B was a girl, so I will take the liberty of using "she"--it seems wrong to say "it," as if her time was so brief and so insignificant that she was just an inanimate object. She was real, and she lived the most that she could, and she was precious to my husband and me.

She let go of life very recently, within the last few days. I still *feel* her with me. I still feel her spirit and though I know it can't last, I cherish her presence.  I know that she would have lived if she could have. Her little heart fought to beat, and she tried to catch up in growth. It is my own fault, for giving her worthless genes that could never sustain the life she deserved to have.

The other one, who I think is a boy, appears strong and healthy. I would show you his picture, but it also contains the image of dead Baby B, so it feels right to keep it private. And it pains me to look at it. Baby A continues to grow, and his heartbeat is strong--156 bpm. We even got to hear his heartbeat yesterday, a first for my husband and me. D keeps marveling at that, but I think that if we lose this little one, too, the memory of hearing that whoosh-whoosh-whoosh will only make the loss harder to bear. I have decided to delay my next ultrasound until right before we leave for the CVS. Ultrasounds are nothing for me but embryo death-watch, and the lead up to them is stressful and upsetting even when they turn out well. Of course, we don't want to travel all the way for the CVS if our remaining little one has left us, so we'll do a quick heartbeat check before we go.

Nearly everyone wants me to focus on Baby A, but I can't. Why does the drama of death outweigh the miracle of life? I don't know, but I loved Baby B, and in my irrational heart I want the doctor to be wrong, wrong, wrong. I want this to be a terrible mistake and I want to undo time and I want to make it right.

While I slept yesterday afternoon, in an attempt to delay the inevitable grief, my husband investigated local prenatal massage, and when I awoke he made me a mint Oreo milkshake. I couldn't bear to let him see how much his kindness made me cry. Later, my mother knew all the right things to say while I wept on the phone. We have a complicated relationship, as mothers and daughters often do, yet in the darkest times she is always just right. I told her that I couldn't do this anymore, couldn't lose my babies one after another, couldn't bear to claw my way out of the misery of miscarriage one more time. And she said: You can. You can. You are the strongest woman I know, and you can survive this, and whatever happens next.

So now I am moving, slow and coma-like, through the next two weeks. Ten days to ultrasound, 13 days to CVS, 14 days to results. At the end, the waiting and wondering will be over. We will either rejoice, or begin the long, slow process of loss and of grief. Whatever lies in store, I will be grateful that the limbo is over.

Hope and Love

Wow, I feel like it's been such a long time since I blogged. I think I started, then abandoned, at least a half-dozen posts in the last week. Fear is so effective at paralyzing my tongue. I wanted, more than anything, to give voice to all the worries plaguing my mind. But to even think them--let alone write them down and commit them to record--would surely open the door for my fears to be realized. At least, that was another fear added to the already-long list.

Now, today, I am less afraid. I think in large part the fear stemmed from the innate knowledge that one, or more, of the embryos was failing last week. I have no solid proof of this, just intuition--the same intuition that has always guided me through the last hours of a chemical pregnancy. The initially high betas and their very slow doubling are the most compelling evidence I have, but even without that, I would trust my inner sense. I have learned at least that much through my infertility and miscarriage travails. This, perversely, makes me proud--but what a shame that it should take such an ordeal to teach me to tap into my deeper wisdom. Better late than never, I guess.

In good news, my betas finally started doubling, and are now doubling beautifully. We had a five-week ultrasound yesterday and *maybe* saw a sac, but nothing definitive. Next Friday, at the six-week ultrasound, we should know more. For now, I feel confident and happy. I feel pregnant! And I love being pregnant. I don't even mind the exhaustion or the incredibly sore breasts or the daily vomiting (sometimes twice or thrice daily, ugh). I have longed for this. Since my 12-week miscarriage I have desperately missed the wondrous feeling of growing new life within me. I missed it so dearly that it became as much a constant and essential part of me as the beating of my heart. It is the greatest gift, the highest privilege, that I could ever desire, and I will never, ever take it for granted.

I love that little life. I love that bond that we have already formed, that bright spark connecting mother and child. I know that s/he will grow and thrive within me for as long as possible, hopefully for a good nine months. But if something should go wrong, this time right now will be the only chance I had at mothering him or her in this realm. I am trying my best not to waste a moment of this time on fear or doubt. Whatever the future may hold, right now, I am pregnant. Right now, our child grows within me. And I love him or her with all my heart and soul.

17

I realized last night that, counting our 10 IVF-created embryos, my husband and I have conceived 17 times.

17 times.

It boggles the mind.

Watching the transformation of my egg + his sperm into thriving 3-day embryos and then gorgeous 5-day blastocysts fills me with pride and sorrow. Pride, because we can conceive. We can make new life, and it can start off normal and healthy. And sorrow, because if it weren't for this horrible, godforsaken translocation, we would have been parents by now. We would have been parents long ago, I think.

In one of our sick joke phases (yes, there've been more than one), we used to talk about all our babies in "the tiny little graveyard in Heaven." I'm not saying it was funny then, but it's definitely not funny now. There are too many "tiny graves," as we called them. Way too many.

Sometimes, when I indulge in a rosy afterlife hallucination, I imagine being reunited with the spirits of the lost little ones. When I am no longer of this world, I hope that can happen. Nothing would make me happier.

Get Thee Behind Me, Lovenox!

I hate Lovenox. I hate Lovenox with the fire of a thousand burning suns. While I will begrudgingly acknowledge that it has a pretty cool spring mechanism to protect the populace from accidental used-needle sticks, I wish the designers of the Lovenox delivery system had spent just a few pennies more on a needle that was actually, you know, sharp. On a needle that easily and seamlessly pierced skin without the wrestling, sweating, praying, and whimpering that happens here on a nightly basis. And it would have been really cool if the makers of Lovenox had worked on the formula a bit more so it didn't, you know, burn going in.

I suppose I'm bitter because the nightly Lovenox injections are one more reminder that I am pregnancy-challenged. Low Protein S levels, which can lead to abnormally fast blood clotting, sealed my fate. And yes, it's far better to take my nightly Lovenox shot and imagine plush, cushy fields of endometrium and free-flowing nutrition reaching a fetus than a slow, clotty stream that causes it to starve, slowly "withering on the vine." (Yes, that is an actual medical description I read. Horrible.)

Though, honestly, I think at this point Modern Medicine will throw anything my way that could possibly prevent miscarriage. At least I have proof that the Lovenox is working. My blood is so thin, it's practically anorexic. I woke up this morning with a bloody nose (thanks, Lovenox!) and a hematoma blooming across my belly:

Guess I nicked a capillary last night. It's got a tender, hard lump under it, so it will get worse before it gets better.

If you find that your fate dictates you dance with the devil Lovenox, here are some helpful tips.

1. ICE! ICE! ICE! Quench the flames of Lovenox's fire! Seriously, though, icing the area for ten minutes before and after will numb the skin enough that you won't mind the dull needle, nor the burning medicine. At least, you won't mind it as much.

2. If the needle isn't going in enough despite the usual pressure, try a new spot. Some areas, even on the softest parts of the body, won't allow that dull needle in. Who can say why? But don't fight it. Even if it means another needle stick, go elsewhere.

3. Don't hesitate to lift your shirt at any opportunity to show people your boo-boos. You should get some serious sympathy--you deserve it!

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.