Yesterday I received a call from the nurse at my drs office regarding the results from the karyotype that was ordered a few weeks ago. She let me know that when the bloodwork got to the lab, they canceled the test because they said they already ran it in January of 2012. They weren't going to run it again because the results from a test like that wouldn't change and if they did the test again, we would be billed the full cost (which apparently is very expensive, although I don't know how much and probably don't want to know). And for whatever reason, the RE never received any results and I didn't even remember going for the test. You would think I would have remembered something like that, except I have been through so many tests and had so much bloodwork drawn, I can't keep things straight.
Results: neither of us is a carrier of balanced translocation. This is a good thing, right? So, why do I feel so lost, frusterated and hopeless? Because if neither of us is a carrier, then we still have no answers as to why these miscarriages are happening or if they will keep happening. Will I even be able to get pregnant again? Why does it take so long for me to get pregnant? Is it a coincidence that all of the miscarriages have happened between the months of Jan-April? Maybe there are no answers. Maybe I am just not meant to be a mother, at least not to a biological child.
I don't think I have ever felt a bigger betrayal then the betrayal I feel from my own body.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Tested for Balanced Translocation
I made a post on Facebook the other day about how we want quick and easy answers to the problems in our lives. We want someone to tell us that what we are doing is right or wrong, fixable or not fixable, etc. And by we, I meant me. I want someone (specifically a dr) to tell me why I am having such a hard time getting pregnant, and when I do finally get pregnant why I lose that pregnancy. But the problem is, with every answer, or non-answer, there are more questions.
So, with this 5th miscarriage I went to see my RE. For those who don't know, an RE is a Reproductive Endocrinologist; a specialist reserved for those of us who are super lucky in the deparment of fertility (said sarcastically). I had more questions like could there be a problem with my ovarian reserve (my eggs)? Could there be a problem with my ovulation? Well, the dr. looked thru his notes from our last visit in Jan of 2012 and mentioned to me that he wrote down we were supposed to go in for chromosone testing, but that he didn't have any results. Well, that was because we never went. I told him I didn't recall being told that or anyone ever following up with us. So, he said we should do that now. He told me that it sounds to him like either myself or my husband could be a carrier of something called balanced translocation. You can read about balanced translocation here:
http://miscarriage.about.com/od/twoormoremiscarriages/p/balancedtranslo.htm
And here is a simple diagram:
We have to wait 3-15 days for the results. I am not sure what I am hoping for. If one of us is a carrier of this, that will be an answer. That will explain so much. But while it will explain so much, it won't make things any easier because this is not something that is treatable. Its not something that gets better. There are one of 4 things that can happen if this is our issue:
1. We can stop pursuing any medical course of treatment and just try naturally and risk the recurrent miscarriages (risk of miscarriage is 50% or higher). Do we (I) really want to keep taking that risk?
2. We can use an egg donor or a sperm donor (completely out of the question for financial and personal reasons).
3. We can try IVF with something called Pre-Implantation Genetic Diagnosis (PGD). A round of IVF with with test is around $20000, so that is obviously not going to happen. And even if it was a possibility for us, there is no guarantee that it would be successful.
4. We can just quit trying :(
Of course, it could come back that neither of us is a carrier. It only affects about 1 out of 625 people. So, if neither of us is a carrier, then we fall back into that mysterious 30% of people who just has unexplained infertility, yippee.
It seems like a crapshoot no matter what. What's my best case scenario, you ask? Well, I would like to just either wake up one day and not want to be a mother, that way I wouldn't be heart-broken and devastated EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH. But as that is unlikely, what I would really like is to forget about all of this; all of the tests, all of the "trying", all of the drs. (you know, there have been 5 of those now as well), and pursue the alternative of adoption. Adoption is another blog for another time, I guess.
The way I ended my Facebook post about questions and answers was that sometimes we just have to trust and have faith that things will work out the way they are supposed to, even if its not the way we planned. I have a hard time practicing my own advice.
So, with this 5th miscarriage I went to see my RE. For those who don't know, an RE is a Reproductive Endocrinologist; a specialist reserved for those of us who are super lucky in the deparment of fertility (said sarcastically). I had more questions like could there be a problem with my ovarian reserve (my eggs)? Could there be a problem with my ovulation? Well, the dr. looked thru his notes from our last visit in Jan of 2012 and mentioned to me that he wrote down we were supposed to go in for chromosone testing, but that he didn't have any results. Well, that was because we never went. I told him I didn't recall being told that or anyone ever following up with us. So, he said we should do that now. He told me that it sounds to him like either myself or my husband could be a carrier of something called balanced translocation. You can read about balanced translocation here:
http://miscarriage.about.com/od/twoormoremiscarriages/p/balancedtranslo.htm
And here is a simple diagram:
We have to wait 3-15 days for the results. I am not sure what I am hoping for. If one of us is a carrier of this, that will be an answer. That will explain so much. But while it will explain so much, it won't make things any easier because this is not something that is treatable. Its not something that gets better. There are one of 4 things that can happen if this is our issue:
1. We can stop pursuing any medical course of treatment and just try naturally and risk the recurrent miscarriages (risk of miscarriage is 50% or higher). Do we (I) really want to keep taking that risk?
2. We can use an egg donor or a sperm donor (completely out of the question for financial and personal reasons).
3. We can try IVF with something called Pre-Implantation Genetic Diagnosis (PGD). A round of IVF with with test is around $20000, so that is obviously not going to happen. And even if it was a possibility for us, there is no guarantee that it would be successful.
4. We can just quit trying :(
Of course, it could come back that neither of us is a carrier. It only affects about 1 out of 625 people. So, if neither of us is a carrier, then we fall back into that mysterious 30% of people who just has unexplained infertility, yippee.
It seems like a crapshoot no matter what. What's my best case scenario, you ask? Well, I would like to just either wake up one day and not want to be a mother, that way I wouldn't be heart-broken and devastated EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH. But as that is unlikely, what I would really like is to forget about all of this; all of the tests, all of the "trying", all of the drs. (you know, there have been 5 of those now as well), and pursue the alternative of adoption. Adoption is another blog for another time, I guess.
The way I ended my Facebook post about questions and answers was that sometimes we just have to trust and have faith that things will work out the way they are supposed to, even if its not the way we planned. I have a hard time practicing my own advice.
Monday, April 29, 2013
The worst place to be
Today I had the dreaded visit to the OB/GYN office. It was for the follow up after my miscarriage. When the nurse called me last week and told me it would be a good idea for me to come in and meet with my doctor, I told her that unless he was going to tell me something new or more helpful from what the other 4 doctors had told me (2 of those doctors being Reproductive Endocrinologists), I had no interest in seeing him. She was very nice to me and just said, "Oh, hunny, you don't have to do anything you're not ready to do. You just call when you're ready to see him". So, I called a few days later because I did have a couple questions, you know, with this being my 5th miscarriage.
So, back to today. I pulled in the parking lot of the office and instantly I felt this immense sadness. I wasn't there for the reason I wanted to be there. I wasn't there for the reason I should be there. I walked in and what is the first thing I see? A pregnant woman, probably 4-6 months standing up with her husband's hand on her belly. It didn't matter where I sat, I was in an office full of pregnant women. A cruel reminder of what I had lost.
I went back to the exam room and didn't have to wait very long. Within a few minutes the dr was in there giving me his condoloences for my loss. He said to me that one of the things he disliked most about his job was seeing a woman like me, who wanted so much to be pregnant and become a mom and who had been thru so much, and then to go into the next room and have a patient who was pregnant and didn't want to be, or didn't appreciate it, or couldn't care for herself or the children she already had. It just wasn't fair he said, and I couldn't agree more.
So, back to today. I pulled in the parking lot of the office and instantly I felt this immense sadness. I wasn't there for the reason I wanted to be there. I wasn't there for the reason I should be there. I walked in and what is the first thing I see? A pregnant woman, probably 4-6 months standing up with her husband's hand on her belly. It didn't matter where I sat, I was in an office full of pregnant women. A cruel reminder of what I had lost.
I went back to the exam room and didn't have to wait very long. Within a few minutes the dr was in there giving me his condoloences for my loss. He said to me that one of the things he disliked most about his job was seeing a woman like me, who wanted so much to be pregnant and become a mom and who had been thru so much, and then to go into the next room and have a patient who was pregnant and didn't want to be, or didn't appreciate it, or couldn't care for herself or the children she already had. It just wasn't fair he said, and I couldn't agree more.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
The non-existent nursery
We have a spare room in our house. For the first few years, it was used as extra storage. There was junk in there and old furniture. Then, we cleaned it out and it became our dogs' room. We put their blankets in there and cleaned all of the other stuff out. And it just stayed the dogs room with the intention that it was someday going to be a nursery.
With every pregnancy, I would go into the spare room and see the empty space and I would envision the color of the walls. I knew we wouldn't paint pink or blue because we decided not to find out the gender early. I knew we wouldn't paint pastel yellow or green because those were overdone. I found some crib bedding online that I really liked. It was ABC, 123 themed and had little owls in like an aqua and tan color. And there was some orange or peach. Those would be the colors of the walls. The crib would be a natural color wood or white. I pictured a rocker in the corner by the window and that is where I would rock our baby, by the light of the moon and the twinkling of the stars and I would say nursery rhymes and sing little songs to put him or her to sleep. The rhymes and songs that my mom used to say to me:
CiCi my playmate, come out and play with me
Bring your dolly three
Climb up my apple tree
Slide down my rainbow into my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends forever more
Shut the door
I would go in there, in the middle of the night, when the baby woke up crying and rock him back to sleep, or maybe stay up for hours with a screaming baby because they don't always go back to sleep so easily. And maybe the dogs would be curled up on the big area rug next to the crib, you know for protection.
There would be a shelf on the wall with the first ultra sound picture and the first picture of the three of us in the hospital together. And on the opposite wall would be big hanging letters spelling out his or her name.
I used to imagine all of that. And I never did anything with the room because I didn't want to put a lot of work into just to have to re-do it all when I finally got pregnant and had a baby. And now, there is no reason for it to stay empty; there is no reason to keep imagining that nursery.
After my miscarriage was confirmed last week, that nursery I had been imagining was replaced with an idea for a more realistic guest room. I decided that I couldn't stand to look at that empty room any more and I needed to start decorating it right away. I had to do something productive with all of the rage and sadness and grief that I was feeling, so I went shopping. I went out and bought a big grey area rug and picked out a silvery-lavender color for the walls and dark purple curtains. And I decided that instead of a crib, I would buy a futon.
With every pregnancy, I would go into the spare room and see the empty space and I would envision the color of the walls. I knew we wouldn't paint pink or blue because we decided not to find out the gender early. I knew we wouldn't paint pastel yellow or green because those were overdone. I found some crib bedding online that I really liked. It was ABC, 123 themed and had little owls in like an aqua and tan color. And there was some orange or peach. Those would be the colors of the walls. The crib would be a natural color wood or white. I pictured a rocker in the corner by the window and that is where I would rock our baby, by the light of the moon and the twinkling of the stars and I would say nursery rhymes and sing little songs to put him or her to sleep. The rhymes and songs that my mom used to say to me:
CiCi my playmate, come out and play with me
Bring your dolly three
Climb up my apple tree
Slide down my rainbow into my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends forever more
Shut the door
I would go in there, in the middle of the night, when the baby woke up crying and rock him back to sleep, or maybe stay up for hours with a screaming baby because they don't always go back to sleep so easily. And maybe the dogs would be curled up on the big area rug next to the crib, you know for protection.
There would be a shelf on the wall with the first ultra sound picture and the first picture of the three of us in the hospital together. And on the opposite wall would be big hanging letters spelling out his or her name.
I used to imagine all of that. And I never did anything with the room because I didn't want to put a lot of work into just to have to re-do it all when I finally got pregnant and had a baby. And now, there is no reason for it to stay empty; there is no reason to keep imagining that nursery.
After my miscarriage was confirmed last week, that nursery I had been imagining was replaced with an idea for a more realistic guest room. I decided that I couldn't stand to look at that empty room any more and I needed to start decorating it right away. I had to do something productive with all of the rage and sadness and grief that I was feeling, so I went shopping. I went out and bought a big grey area rug and picked out a silvery-lavender color for the walls and dark purple curtains. And I decided that instead of a crib, I would buy a futon.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
5th Miscarriage
It's really hard sometimes to see life still going on around me. I think because I am hurting and sad and grieving that time should stop, just for a little while. I want to throw a pity party for myself and just stay in my bed. And then I feel selfish because I know there are things in this world that happen that are so much worse then what I am going through. And I also know that there are very happy things that are happening that I should be celebrating, but then it feels like I am betraying the loss that I just had.
This has been an extremely hard week for me. Very emotionally draining. This was the 5th time I got pregnant. Completely unexpected. And because it was completely unexpected, there was a little teeny-tiny piece of me that thought and hoped and prayed this was going to be the baby that was meant to be (and of course, I thought the other 4 babies were the babies that were meant to be). When the nurse told me I was pregnant, I just started sobbing. I told her she had to be wrong. This couldn't be possible because we weren't trying and I wasn't being monitored. But the test was positive and I was pregnant. I tried to stay cautious and I was never really happy, I mean how could I be? It was just instant fear because of all of the complications and losses we had already experienced. Every woman who wants to be a mom should be able to feel nothing but happiness and joy and excitement when they are told they are pregnant.
When will I get to feel that? When will it be my turn to have a happy, healthy pregnancy and baby? When will it be our turn to be parents? When will we get to see our baby on an ultrasound and hear a heartbeat and feel a kick and plan a shower and decorate a nursery? When will we get to bring our baby home and build our family?
Maybe never. When I lost this last pregnancy, I lost so much more then the physical aspect. I lost part of who I was and the last little bit of hope I had that we would ever be parents; that I would ever be a mom. I know people want to tell me that it will happen some day, somehow. But if that were true, wouldn't it have been one of the last five times I got pregnant? The truth is, that just because I want to be a mom more than anything, and just because I feel like I was meant to be a mom and that I was meant to raise children with my husband, that doesn't mean it will happen. There might be lots of ways to have a family, but those ways don't work for everyone. They're not a reality for everyone.
5 years of trying to conceive and 5 losses just seems like a sign, a very sad sign, but a sign.
This has been an extremely hard week for me. Very emotionally draining. This was the 5th time I got pregnant. Completely unexpected. And because it was completely unexpected, there was a little teeny-tiny piece of me that thought and hoped and prayed this was going to be the baby that was meant to be (and of course, I thought the other 4 babies were the babies that were meant to be). When the nurse told me I was pregnant, I just started sobbing. I told her she had to be wrong. This couldn't be possible because we weren't trying and I wasn't being monitored. But the test was positive and I was pregnant. I tried to stay cautious and I was never really happy, I mean how could I be? It was just instant fear because of all of the complications and losses we had already experienced. Every woman who wants to be a mom should be able to feel nothing but happiness and joy and excitement when they are told they are pregnant.
When will I get to feel that? When will it be my turn to have a happy, healthy pregnancy and baby? When will it be our turn to be parents? When will we get to see our baby on an ultrasound and hear a heartbeat and feel a kick and plan a shower and decorate a nursery? When will we get to bring our baby home and build our family?
Maybe never. When I lost this last pregnancy, I lost so much more then the physical aspect. I lost part of who I was and the last little bit of hope I had that we would ever be parents; that I would ever be a mom. I know people want to tell me that it will happen some day, somehow. But if that were true, wouldn't it have been one of the last five times I got pregnant? The truth is, that just because I want to be a mom more than anything, and just because I feel like I was meant to be a mom and that I was meant to raise children with my husband, that doesn't mean it will happen. There might be lots of ways to have a family, but those ways don't work for everyone. They're not a reality for everyone.
5 years of trying to conceive and 5 losses just seems like a sign, a very sad sign, but a sign.
Join the Movement-I am joining the movement and you can too
This week is National Infertility Awareness Week and I am joining the movement. Over 7 million people suffer from the reproductive disease of infertility. I am one of those 7 million people. My husband and I have been trying to conceive for 5 years and have been thru 5 miscarriages. The most recent one was confirmed last Monday, 4/15. While the pain of that is still very fresh and my emotions are still very raw, I know that I can't let it pass by without talking about it. I am not going to be silent because that is what so many people in the infertility community do. We stay silent.
We stay silent out of fear of judgement. We stay silent out of the shame we think we have to feel. We stay silent because we don't want to make other people uncomfortable. We stay silent because we think we must somehow have deserved to have the precious gift that was given to us taken away. We stay silent because we think its supposed to be a private matter. We stay silent for lots of reasons. But 7 million people staying silent gives infertility a lot of power. How can we, in the infertility community, expect to get support from those who love us and from those who can make a difference like doctors and insurance companies and law makers, if we don't give them a chance to support us? If we don't give them a chance to join the movement?
If you want to support me, if you want to support National Infertility Awareness Week, if you want to support the over 7 million people who are battling the dream crushing-heartbreaking-devastating-emotion draining-hope stealing-kick me in the face while I'm down jerkface infertility, then join the movement. Check out these links:
http://www.resolve.org/infertility-overview/what-is-infertility/
http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html
Thank you for reading this. It means a lot to me that you care enough to visit my blog.
We stay silent out of fear of judgement. We stay silent out of the shame we think we have to feel. We stay silent because we don't want to make other people uncomfortable. We stay silent because we think we must somehow have deserved to have the precious gift that was given to us taken away. We stay silent because we think its supposed to be a private matter. We stay silent for lots of reasons. But 7 million people staying silent gives infertility a lot of power. How can we, in the infertility community, expect to get support from those who love us and from those who can make a difference like doctors and insurance companies and law makers, if we don't give them a chance to support us? If we don't give them a chance to join the movement?
If you want to support me, if you want to support National Infertility Awareness Week, if you want to support the over 7 million people who are battling the dream crushing-heartbreaking-devastating-emotion draining-hope stealing-kick me in the face while I'm down jerkface infertility, then join the movement. Check out these links:
http://www.resolve.org/infertility-overview/what-is-infertility/
http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html
Thank you for reading this. It means a lot to me that you care enough to visit my blog.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Infertility isn't ha-ha funny
I chose the title for my blog because sometimes I just have to laugh. It's not a ha-ha funny. It's more of an "I can't believe this is happening to ME" kind of funny. It's an "I can't believe this situation" kind of funny. It's an "If I don't laugh, I'll cry" kind of funny.
I chose the title because if I think back far enough, there were signs of my infertility long before I knew to look for those signs, and long before we started "trying" to have children. It's funny that we spent so much time being careful to not get pregnant because there were so many other priorities, and now that we're ready, its not happening.
I chose the title because its funny that what seems so easy for everyone else, is so the opposite of easy for us.
Sometimes I feel like if I don't find something about my infertility to laugh at, I will just cry and believe me, I have done my share of that.
I chose the title because if I think back far enough, there were signs of my infertility long before I knew to look for those signs, and long before we started "trying" to have children. It's funny that we spent so much time being careful to not get pregnant because there were so many other priorities, and now that we're ready, its not happening.
I chose the title because its funny that what seems so easy for everyone else, is so the opposite of easy for us.
Sometimes I feel like if I don't find something about my infertility to laugh at, I will just cry and believe me, I have done my share of that.
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