Christmas trees, presents and tears

I got a text message today from a dear friend who lost her first baby this year.  She was sitting in her car, in the parking lot of the local shopping centre, crying her eyes out.  Her attempt at a normal round of Christmas present buying had proven too hard a task.  She was trapped inside her grief, inside her car, and didn't know what to do next.

It made me wonder how many of us have been in this same situation.  Whether it was at Christmas time, a birthday or anniversary, outside a friend's house as a baby shower goes on inside... How many of us have attempted to do something "normal" like buying a gift or simple grocery shopping, in order to feel "normal"?  And how many of us have broken apart at the seams in the cereal aisle, or surrounded by a crowd in the kids section of Target?  And why do we make ourselves feel so awful when this happens?

I am guilty of trying to act like a normal person since we lost our babies.  Planning parties, organising family dinners, and putting up our Christmas tree on December 1st.   I have tried to buy baby gifts for girlfriends, only to cry all over the gift wrapping.  And I am guilty of trying to pretend that grief doesn't blanket every emotion or thought in my heart and head.  And this seems to be exacerbated ten-fold when someone tries to do something lovely for me!  I can't receive a card or gift without immediately converting to the blubbering version of myself.      

But at Christmas time, we don't play these games in our house.  Christmas Day is a sacred day for so many reasons.  First and foremost it is the birthday of Jesus, our Lord and Saviour.  And in the spirit of hope, family and unconditional love, Christmas Day is also the one day a year when Hubby and I be and feel whatever we need to in that moment.  We spend the day in each others company giving and receiving gifts, eating our specially prepared meals and expressing whatever feelings overcome us at any given moment.  

For instance, we usually try to attend church on Christmas morning.  This is tradition that we were both raised with, and one we hope our children will be able to share with us too.  I hold Hubby's hand throughout the whole service as we pray and hear the message of the day.  I can hold my own pretty well until it is time to sing carols.  For whatever reason, for as long as I can remember, singing Christmas carols is for me like opening the floodgates on a year's worth of held in, pent up emotion.  The moment the choir begins rejoicing in "O Holy Night" I am slapped back into my chair, face in my hands, sobbing.  Some years the sobbing is with grateful thanks for the wonderful blessings in our lives, and sometimes it with sadness over not being able to share that Christmas with a beloved family member who passed away during the year.  But this year I know, and I am VERY prepared for the fact that all my tears will be for our babies.  

The thought of this terrifies me!  The thought of crying like a banshee in a church full of people trying to celebrate their own Christmases is mortifyingly embarrassing!   You see, I'm not a "pretty crier".  When I cry, and I mean really, REALLY get into a full on tear fest, I can not be accountable for the drooling, the oozing boogers or the groans that come out of me from somewhere deep within.  Usually when I feel one of these moments coming on, like my dear friend, I search for the closest exit to the room/building/situation and I find a warm, quiet place to hide.  Problem is, church is for some people that warm, quiet place to hide.  And on Christmas Day we are all going to be there together.  I have voiced these concerns to my Husband, who promises to come prepared with extra tissues stuffed into every available pocket, and a coat of some sort to drape around my shoulders so I can hide my face from onlookers.  And if need be, he will hold my hand and guide me out the front door and into a private corner so I can collect my dignity and redo my makeup.  My hero!

Let's face it, Christmas is a hard one.  There is so much expectation put on this single day to magically be able to visit ALL of our family, no matter how far the distance between homes, to cook a meal even a Master Chef would be proud of, and to be constantly chipper in a way that I feel can only be medically or alcoholically induced.  And the person who puts the brunt of this expectation on us is ourselves!

So here is my Christmas wish for you...
I pray that take a moment with your Husband or Wife and allow yourselves to really feel what is in your heart this Christmas.  I don't believe in self-pity or dwelling in grief, but I DO believe in acknowledging it and the role it plays in our lives.  So whether it be first thing in the morning, last thing at night, or you sneak away from your Aunts and Uncles at the family gathering, it really doesn't matter when.  You'll be surprised at how cathartic it can be to have a big old cry.  It may just be what you need to get you through the rest of your Christmas Day duties!

I also wish you much love this Christmas.  The love of our family and friends is the greatest blessing during our hard times.  And I pray that you feel love in abundance.

Merry Christmas everyone! 

All my love, 

Sunny xx  

 

100th Post-iversary - Little sparks

This is my 100th post on SunnySideUp!  I have wanted to write it for a while and celebrate it as the massive milestone it feels like, but nothing seemed worthy enough to write about...Until five days ago that is.

After two years (almost to the day) of tears, trials, medications, calendar counting and a whole lot of hoping, we finally feel like we have hit a milestone in our attempts to get pregnant and start our family.  After two years of trying everything we could, and everything that was thrown at us, we had 10 little frozen embryos and a date for our first transfer.  

Getting a date alone was a big deal for us.  This cycle got off to a very rocky start.  I had multiple scans to check uterine lining, and at the end of every one the amount of stimulant medication, Progynova, I was taking was increased.  We finally got to the desired 8mm thickness on Day 15 of the cycle and was commenced on Crinone twice a day to ensure that the progress we'd made didn't melt away.  Our transfer date was set for five days later, on Day 20.

I don't really know what we were expecting for transfer day.  I'm not sure what other people have envisioned their transfers would be like either.  But ours was nothing like the movie that played out in my dreams the night before.  We arrived at the IVF clinic at lunch time and were taken in the consult room by a lovely lady named Rhiannon.  She turned out to be our Embryologist.  She sat us down and went through the process of how it'd all work.  We signed more release forms about the risks of multiple pregnancy, infections, negative pregnancy tests, etc.  And then she slid an envelope across the table.  "These are your embryos" she explained.  "You can open it now and have a look, or you can save it til later when you're alone."  Hubby reached for envelope without a second thought and pulled out two photographs.  OUR embryos.  Two little balls of cells, so different from each other, and yet so alike and so precious.  As Hubby sat mesmorised by the photos, I was mesmorised by him.  A look of such calm, such pride, such love came over his face.  Before I could hold them back, the tears began to fall.  Here they were!  Finally our little ones are coming home with us today.  

Soon after, we were led into a softly lit room with the procedure bed.  I undressed and wrapped myself in the drape and climbed into the familiar chair.  The room was warm, and there was music in the background.  It felt nothing like the cold clinic I'd expected.  As I looked up I could see two large flat screens hanging from either wall.  There was an ultrasound machine beside me.  Hubby held my hand as Rhiannon and our doc came in through to modesty curtain to make sure I was settled.  They would be making sure our embryos made it to the warmest, squishiest part of my uterus.  Another nurse, Kate, would hold the ultrasound over my belly so we could watch as the catheter went in first, followed by the syringe holding our little ones.  

It really was quite amazing.  Each little embryo emitted its own little sparks of light as they flitted off the end of the syringe into my uterus.  And there, on the big screen overhead, we saw our embryos float side-by-side inside me.  I turned and looked over at Hubby, who had my hand firmly in his, his eyes glued to the screen and his mouth open in awe.  Kate quickly printed off an ultrasound picture of the little sparks before they faded into the dark uterine wall.  Later, in the car on the way home, we hugged our photos to our chests and said a very big prayer.  The rest now, is up them.

Two days later we set of to the coast for a bit of wedding anniversary beach side luxury.  A perfect way to try and take our minds of the next two excruciating weeks of waiting until we can do a pregnancy test.

In the meantime, I will be logging off SunnySideUp for just a wee while.  I have decided that in order to preserve whatever time we have waiting for these little embryos to make up their minds, I must focus all my time, attention and love on my family.  I will be back though, with whatever news the next few months may bring us.

I want to thank you all for your support, for your prayers, and for your kind words.  You have brought brightness to our dark days, and shared in our good.  You are all in our thoughts as well. And I wish you every success for where ever you are on your own paths to parenthood. 

Thank you, always,

Sunny xx  

 

    

What a let down!

Today was pre-transplant scan day.  The day that had been marked in our calendars the moment we froze our embryos.  And then circled that date so we wouldn't forget, wouldn't double book ourselves, would plan our day and week around.  As we drove to the clinic this morning a very subtle, but very true feeling of nervousness kicked up in my stomach.  Hubby noticed straight away and grabbed my hand from my lap, trying to calm me.  There was so much riding on this appointment.  So many months of patience and heart ache that had led us to this day; the day that would decide when our embryos would come home to me, to start their new life.

We didn't wait long before we were called into his office.  With a warm hug and handshake for us both we sat and awaited our fates.  He explained how he'd recently been named one of the most successful IVF specialists in our state, and that his rate of pregnancy post frozen transfer was higher than any of his colleagues.  He was proving to us that our faith in him was not misplaced.  And he was already right, we trust him 100 percent.  The rest was up to us!

It wasn't long before my undies were off, and my legs were up in stirrups (we all know that awkward position).  As he scooted the ultrasound probe round my lady regions staring intently at the screen, his face looked puzzled.  "What day are you again?" he asked.  "Day 11" I replied quietly.  Hmmm....  And then he looked at me with that face he gives, that face I know all too well means something's not quite right, and explained that I had no signs of follicle growth, and no build up in uterine lining.  Which basically means my hormones are still not behaving and my body is not produced oestrogen to the level that would produce an ovulation.  Without those hormones, my body wouldn't recognise an embryo and provide a nice warm uterus for it to attach to.

I wiped off the ultrasound jelly, pulled my pants back on, and sat back down at his desk avoiding Hubby's gaze.  I knew he was disappointed, and if I looked at him now I would lose the ability to hold it all together.  Doc went on to outline a new plan of attack for us.  As of the beginning of next cycle I'd go on hormone replacement therapy (HRT).  A combination of drugs to build up my uterus and invoke an ovulation.  BUT it didn't involve Clomid (thank goodness)!  In order to get back to Day 1 without too much messing about, I'll be back of progesterone tablets to force my period to start, which should only take about seven to 10 days.   The HRT will then take about 12 to 14 days, at which point we can rescan for possible transfer dates.

The ride home from the doctors was a quiet one, save for my crying and Hubby's ragged breathing as he too tried to hide his tears.  24 more days!  It may not seem like a long time to many, but to us it is yet another lifetime to live through.  Another slow and painful wait until our fate is yet again called up for deciding.  

In 26 days we have booked our very first weekend getaway together in over two and a half years.  In 32 days it is our third Wedding Anniversary.  In 59 days we will mark the second Anniversary of the loss of our first pregnancy, and the beginning of our battle with infertility.  So 24 days may feel like a short time for some, but to us it is torture.

     

 

The long and short of it

Holy heck it feels like it's been a decade between when we froze our wee Boobals and now!  Time has slowed these last eight weeks.  Slowed to a painstakingly slow pace.  One that has sent me round the bend a number of times, while we've waited out hormone fluctuations, blood tests, orientation to new jobs, changes in schedules, changes in months...  I feel so much older now than I did just two months ago.  I feel like so much has changed, and yet so many little things will always remain the same.

In the last two months my hormones went from bad to good, to worse again.  I developed huge amounts of bloating and chest pain.  I've been to see my GP thinking I had heart problems, only to be told it was actually my progesterone levels imbalanced.  The when my period was four days late and my chest pain got worse I was asked by my specialist to go home from work and do a pregnancy test as soon as possible.  Why would I do that?  There's NO WAY I could be pregnant!!  As if I'd be pregnant!  And yet, I did as I was told.  

As I stormed in our front door, pregnancy kit in hand,  threw my bag down and headed straight to the bathroom, Hubby knew it was best not to ask questions.  I sat, I peed, and then I cried.  Yet another humiliating negative test.  Worse still, I knew it would be negative and I didn't want to test in the first place.  So I cried.  And then I called my doctor and told him what I already knew.  Definitely NOT pregnant.

Two days later I got my period.  

And as I sat at my desk at work, bewildered by the week's events, I couldn't help but think that this is how it may always be...  Me, counting the days of the month, not by the calendar, but by the cycle day.  I will keep time in 28 to 40 day blocks, not months.  Celebrate milestones like two years of "trying", as well as wedding anniversaries and birthdays.  Will I always keep such a tight leash on my body?  Or one day will I learn to just let it all go and be what it'll be?  Will having a baby loosen my grip on scheduling my internal clock, or make it worse as we attempt again and again to provide siblings for our little ones.  At what point do I just STOP?


So we are now very literally days, yes DAYS, away from a possible frozen transfer.  I won't say what date exactly, because if I do it's likely to change for some reason or another.  And then another counting game begins: two weeks wait, then first 12 weeks, and on and on...  I feel like I'll be keeping count for the rest of my life!

 

In repair

I am grieving.  Our last IUI and the four follicles it produced failed.  12 days post insemination and the fanny blowout came thick and fast.  No prior warning, no cramping, no insomnia, just out of the blue it was there.  There was no chance of it being implant bleeding, for it was just too darn heavy and too long.  Our last chance was over!  

Of course, I pretended I was ok; like I was expecting this, which I was to some degree, and that it was no big deal.  But it is!  It's a very big deal.  Given all the opportunities my body had to embrace medications, produce eggs and then create a baby, it still couldn't.  Our doc says it's related to the level of stress in our lives.  I laughed in his face, because to that I say a big fat "DERRR!".  I went to work, tried to keep myself together, and headed home at 11.30pm to see my beloved Husband for the first time all day.  He took one look at me and wrapped his big, warm arms around me.  I was gone.  The pain came flowing out in a wave of tears.  "So we don't win this one?" he asked me.  I buried my face deeper in his shoulder and let it all go.  

So, as my Husband likes to say, we're now one of "those couples".  Yep, we are!  We are one of those IVF couples.  Well, we will be when we start, which won't be for a while as we're currently on a baby-hiatus, while he changes jobs, I sort my head out, and we both hit our refresh buttons.

I am grieving.  I am grieving my body's inability to do what I want it to.  I am grieving lost time.  I am grieving so many negative tests.  I am grieving the fact that IVF will cost us a lot of money, of which we don't have.  I am grieving.  But I will get there!  Grieving is a process.  I am not broken.  It is ok to not be ok for a while.  I may look down and out, but inside I am rallying, slowly mind you.  I don't know how long it'll take, but we will both get there!  

I want to thank each of you who read my blog and reply with your lovely messages, hugs and love.  We are not alone and for that I am very thankful.  Your experiences give me strength that when we're ready we can do this!  It's not about how you get there, it's about the end result, a baby; a family!  You are all wonderfully treasured.  I am in repair!

Registering as infertile

Sorry everyone, I realise it's been almost a week since I last blogged and since we went back to see our fertility specialist.  SO much has gone on in the Sunny household, I don't really know where to begin...

Hubby and I took our long list of questions back to the doc, armed with indifference about whether we would request a second opinion or new specialist.  More than anything, we just wanted answers!  I have NEVER been more nervous sitting in his waiting room than I was that day.  Hubby had to come over from work, so I sat there alone for about 20 minutes before the welcome smile of Hubby came through the front doors.  He could see how nervous and stressed I was so he took my hand and we just sat in silence.  We'd had weeks to go over the questions we wanted to ask, to talk about what we were comfortable with doing and not doing, and preparing for this day.  Our three cycle "trial" period on oral meds was officially over.  (I had been on a titrating Clomid dose ranging from 50mg to 150mg (days 3-7) for three cycles with no success.)

Our names were called, it was finally our turn to see the doctor.  We discussed further cycles with increased doses of Clomid, but due to my recurrent side effects (migraines, lack of sleep, cystic acne) we decided against it.  Instead we were introduced to the idea of Follicle Stimulating Hormone (FSH) injections and Intra-Uterine Insemination (IUI) with the possibility of In-Vitro Fertilisation (IVF).  Hubby and I sat there, staring at him for a minute, in shock.  Were we really up to this already?  

Our doc could sense our surprise and explained that the FSH would be administered daily from day 5, and I would be monitored with blood tests and scans every 5 days after commencement to make sure we produced the "right" amount of follicles.  The "right" amount was anything from 1-3 follicles, the "wrong" amount is anything higher than this.  If we had our magic number, I would then get a shot of HcG and we would proceed to IUI.  IUI is basically where your husband's semen is squirted directly into your uterus as close to your fallopian tubes as possible, in the hope that some of the sperm-meets-egg risks are alleviated.  IF we produced more follicles than desired (in excess of 10) we would be given the option to harvest these eggs for use in IVF when we wanted.  

We were given an information pack about Queensland Fertility Group and the services they provide, as well as our registration form.  WE ARE NOW OFFICIALLY INFERTILE!  Hubby was given orders to drop of his "specimen" to the collection office and we've had our bloods taken to test for all the nasties (HIV, Hepatitis, Rubella, etc).  Tomorrow we meet the QFG nurse and get educated on FSH injections, though this shouldn't be too big of a hurdle as I'm a nurse.  It's going to be fun watching Hubby learn this wonderful skill though, being the squeemish type.

The days following our appointment we found ourselves sitting on the couch together, staring into the distance.  Both of us wrapped up in thoughts about IUI, IVF, babies and so much more.  We've cried (A LOT) about the fact that our natural fertility options have failed, but through some excellent advice from great friends (and fellow infertiles) we've learned that this is all part of the process.  We have to give ourselves time to grieve our loss of fertility, work through our hesitations and to look forward.  This still may take some time, but together we can overcome this.  After all, it's the end result that matters, not how we get there!


So that's our news... Like I said, it's been a big week! 

Time for something new?

With this cycle very quickly coming to an end, with no ovulation in sight, we have spent the last week trying to decide what move we want to make next.  Hubby was quite at ease about the fact that we didn't have to see our specialist for over 50 days because he was so convinced that the meds were doing their job.  Now we know they haven't, we both kind of wish we'd had the chance to find out sooner through the routine scanning and testing we were used to.  Throughout all our decision making little events have popped up that have made us just that little bit more uneasy, but could have been so easily avoided.  

In trying to catch up with our specialist we were told that he'd call us "straight away" three days in a row, but we still have not heard from him.  Fed up with waiting I attempted to book myself in to see him at the soonest possible date, which turns out it was a month from now.  Keeping my cool I explained to the receptionist how important it was to see him in person as I hadn't been feeling very well and we'd be starting a new cycle soon.  Reluctantly, she fit me in for 15 minutes on Thursday afternoon, but only if I promised to bring a renewed referral with me from my GP.  (Had it really been 12 months since my PCOS diagnosis?)  I agreed, as I was desperate, and called my GP's office to make the request.

My GP is awesome!  He knows I'm a nurse and work stupid shift hours and as a result, he does his best to help me out.  Including usually writing me referrals and scripts over the phone for me to collect when I'm off work.  It's NEVER been a problem before.  But the receptionist I got this day wasn't having a bar of it!  She insisted that he wouldn't be able to help me over the phone and told me the soonest appointment was Friday afternoon, unless it was "important enough to miss work".  I took the appointment, adding before I hung up that I'd be speaking with my GP about her rudeness and inability to show compassion towards his patients.  She invited me to do so!

I HATE confrontation at the best of times, but two arguments with receptionists in one morning was more than I could handle.  And given the environment in which both these women work, you would ASSUME that they had the ability to empathise with certain delicate situations.  Boy, was I wrong!  So I don't and won't have my renewed referral on time, but I'm headed to my specialist anyway.  What are they going to do, turn me away at the door?  

I'm also armed with a list of questions a mile long.  Three cycles was supposed to be the "trial and error" phase of this medication and if it didn't show results we move on.  Well three cycles are up and we're no closer to producing eggs, so what next?  Can we rely on him to be able to fit us in for scanning when they're needed?  Can I expect to be called back when told he will?  How much longer do we stuff around with the same things because "I'm so young" and we have "so much time" to get this right?

We're ready for some new answers, and we're ready now.  If we don't get the answers we need/want, do we have the guts to ask for a second opinion or even a new specialist?  We'll soon find out!

Let you know what happens...

Mini meltdown

It feels like weeks since I last blogged something real.  Maybe because it actually has been.  Two weeks really, those damn two excruciating weeks wait, that have come and gone and we still know nothing more.  Two weeks when sleeping a night through has felt impossible and all I could think about was more waiting.  

I'm now Day 33 of this cycle.  That's approximately 19 days since I ovulated, 3 days longer than my Doc wanted this cycle to go for, 2 days short of 5 weeks and WAY too much time to be wondering what the heck is going on, if anything.  I have peed on home pregnancy tests and they've come back negative.  I have kept taking my basal temperatures and they are still elevated.  My boobs are sore, my skin looks awful and I'm more bloated than I've ever been!  Oh, and this morning I had some spotting and I feel like I've got menstrual cramps, but this evening the spotting is gone and the cramps are worse. 
WHAT THE HECK DOES IT ALL MEAN?

I was talking with one of my best girlfriends the other night, who I haven't seen in person since we started all this infertility run-around, and she asked me "Are you OK with it all?"  I gave her my stock-standard answer of "Guess we have to be, we're making it work."  Problem is, I don't think I am...

To be really honest, I haven't exactly let myself think beyond each cycle.  Our Doc says it's best to focus on the weeks ahead, not the months.  But if this cycle doesn't work out, we've been trying to get pregnant for eight months with no luck.  It's only this week that this is all really catching up to me.  Is it the extra hormones, is it just that I've chosen not think about it in terms of how long since we started, or did I just not realise?  Maybe it's the idea that we would almost have our baby by now if we hadn't lost it.  Either way, it's hitting home now and it's packing a punch.

So, as I sit here writing about it all, with my abdomen in cramps and brain in reflection mode, I can tell you I feel mad that it's ALL out of my control.  I feel upset that I'm 25 and unable to produce an egg on my own.  I feel weak because I'm letting it all get to me.  I feel unworthy of my beautiful husband and his healthy reproductive system.  And to top it all off, I feel ungrateful for looking at it like that because I KNOW he doesn't, and that's a big reason to feel blessed.  But I want to cry, I want to scream at the top of my lungs how cheated I feel by my own stupid body, I want to beg God to hurry up, and I don't want to hear my time will come soon, because I want it now!  
Is that OK world?  Can you handle that for a while?  Can two loving, responsible adults have their child now?


No...?
Yes...?


Alright, we continue to wait for an answer.





 

Why hello there!

Hello from my computer screen to yours! 

I'm a twenty-something woman, working and living in beautiful Brisbane.  I'm married to a gorgeous man and the love of my life 'hubby'.  We've been married for just over 18 months and recently decided that we'd like to start our family.  Little did we know that this would be any more difficult than stopping contraception, taking some prenatal vitamins and start "trying".  But, when trying turned into nothing, and nothing turned into months of nothing, we thought we better go get checked out.

I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, which basically means my body doesn't release an egg when it's supposed to.  It is one of the easier to treat causes of infertility, but nonetheless we're going to need help to make our babies.

Statistics can be boring, that is until when you become one.  I did a little research and this is what I can tell you about infertility in Australia, and trust me, I was surprised!

• One in six couples is infertile. In 40 per cent of cases the problem rests with the male, in 40 per cent with the female, ten per cent with both partners, and in a further ten per cent of cases, the cause is unknown.
• Fertility problems strike one in three women over 35.
• One in 25 males has a low sperm count and one in 35 is sterile.
• For healthy couples in their twenties having regular unprotected sex, the chance of becoming pregnant each month is 25 per cent.
• The chance of conceiving in an IVF cycle is on average around 20 per cent (but varies due to individual circumstances).
• More than one per cent of births in Australia involve the use of assisted reproductive technologies.

Crazy stuff right?!  Well to put that in a more personal perspective, out of ten of my female friends who have recently had babies, five have required fertility treatments.  It boggles my brain to think of it like that!  

So, I just thought if I can share what I know, and will learn, as we too travel down this road infertility and baby-lust, maybe it'd help remove some of the stigma and surprise about the challenges of baby making.

Here's a few links that I found helpful:

http://www.lifestyle.com.au/

http://www.fertilitysociety.com.au/

http://www.makingbabies.net.au/

http://www.qfg.com.au/