Yesterday was a much-anticipated day in my house. We have been waiting for it to get here, patiently, for two weeks. Not because it was Thanksgiving, but because it was the day I was supposed to go for my pregnancy test following a cycle of in vitro fertilization.
It has been six and a half years since I went through this process to have Luke, four and a half since we did it again and lost a baby. Since then I have shelved the emotions that go with wanting a baby and not being able to have one. I have put away the questions that plagued me in the years prior to having Luke. I have not forgotten how it felt, and I recognize every single day how blessed we are to have Luke. Because of our precious son, because of how happy we are to have him, and because our little family of three has so much fun together, I have been able to enjoy life and put aside the desire to expand our family.
Then my nephew Jackson was born. Two summers ago, Luke wasn't so jazzed about having Jackson around. He complained that Jackson cried too much, and he decided he didn't really like babies "because they don't know anything about pirates." (Pirate obsession was in full force at that time.) This summer that changed, though. Luke adored having Jackson around, got in his face to try to make him laugh, read books to him as patiently as he could, and wanted to be around him every chance he got. When we came back to Caracas, Jackson was all Luke could talk about. He is obsessed with being older than Jackson, and talks frequently about how he will always be four years older than his cousin. He even tries to figure out what grade Jackson will be in for each grade Luke will be in. Several months ago, Luke put two and two together and decided that if he had so much fun taking care of Jackson, that maybe he would like to have a brother or sister of his own.
Jason and I had already decided that we would start the IVF process again this year. When I started having doctor's appointments sometimes twice a week, we let Luke in on the little secret that we were going to try to give him a brother or sister. He has been very sweet through the whole process, praying for a brother or sister, asking frequently if he's getting one. I wish it were as easy as putting it on his Christmas list! That's what he asks for more than anything.
We found a doctor in Venezuela to work with. A few friends have used him before and spoke well of him. Going to the doctor here is much different than in Texas, though. My wonderful doctor in Texas was so organized, so open with information and the "plan" for the IVF cycle. Here, I have had to ask every question, to do my own second-guessing, and even to text the doctor before we leave for his office to make sure he remembers the appointments! I have all my records from prior cycles, though, and as I've been checking this cycle against those records, I am reassured that he is using the same drugs, the same protocols, the same schedule as my doctor at home. The style and organization is just totally different, and, for me, frustrating.
The in vitro process in itself is fascinating, humiliating, emotionally and physically taxing, and not romantic in the least. There is no guaranteed outcome. Through this process, I have:
- gone off of Prozac and felt like a crazy person given the combination of the lack of seratonin in my body and the addition of multiple other hormones that make me feel bizarre
- had five "invasive" sonograms administered by a male doctor
- given myself 40 different shots
- taken progesterone in a way that no one would choose... 42 times
- had my blood drawn about 10 times
- undergone general anaesthesia for the egg retrieval
- drunk lots of water in order to have the abdominal ultrasound for embryo transfer, and had to wait an hour for the doctor (who was late) to arrive. I got to pee three different times for five seconds each in order to relieve some of the discomfort. It didn't help much.
- done much of this process through broken Spanish, gestures and tears.
- visited labs to do bloodwork (they don't do it at the dr. office here), only to be at the mercy of kind strangers who offer to translate when they realize that I am at a standstill with the girls behind the counter who refuse to speak more slowly for me.
- had to share each step of this process with people at work with whom I would prefer NOT to share such personal information
A big question I have each time we do IVF is to tell or not to tell. I have huge issues with failure. I have spent most of my life being able to accomplish most things I set my mind to do (obvious exception being not being able to turn a cartwheel after years of trying to be Nadia Comaneci), and even though I know I should not feel this way, the inability to conceive a baby naturally makes me feel like a huge failure and disappointment. Sharing the fact that we are trying with others opens me up and makes me vulnerable, and every time things don't work out the way I want them to, I feel that I've let people down. Still, when I have to miss 3 days of work in one week despite being physically healthy, I feel like I need to explain those absences. So people find out. Some of them find out from me, some from Jason, and some through the gossip factory. It is nice to have the support of people I work with, but just the same, difficult to share the failure.
I usually tell family and close friends when we begin this process. I figure it is better to have them know what we're going through and praying with us. I have given updates with each major milestone (the retrieval, the transfer, and now the test results).
Throughout the entire process up to the embryo transfer, I was able to remain emotionally separate from what was happening to me. I administered the shots, went for the sonograms, did the blood tests, all without much worry or concern. I focused on other things, enjoyed Luke and Jason, and allowed the stress of IVF to go on the back burner. After the transfer, it was another story. As soon as those "beautiful" (that's the word the embryologist used to describe our babies) embryos were transferred, the obsession returned. All I thought about for the last two weeks was those babies. Whether I was doing the right things, resting enough, being careful with what I ate, etc. I could tell I was pregnant. The early signs that I experienced with Luke were there. The tiredness hit just as it had with him, and I could not keep my eyes open past 8:30 at night. I could hear my heartbeat in my ear when I lay down on the couch.
Then, three days ago, I started to bleed. Too much to be implantation bleeding, too much to feel comfortably still pregnant. Yet people told me not to lose hope, despite what I felt. Yesterday I went to the lab, where they asked me the date of my last period. What do you say to that when the real story is that you've done IVF, were hopefully pregnant, and then started bleeding? When is the date of your last period then? This was a humiliating moment for me. I couldn't explain in Spanish. A complete stranger helped translate, and I cried as I told her what had happened.
The lady who drew my blood was sweet. She asked the same questions again, and again I cried as I explained in my broken Spanish. She drew the blood and then drew a smiley face on the bandaid she put on my arm.
Yesterday I had to wait for the results all day. At 6:00 PM they finally came. Negative. But with a HCG level that indicated I had been pregnant.
Devastation. Anger. Sadness. Tears. Disappointment. Not thankful at all on Thanksgiving. The questions are back: Why me? Why NOT me? This isn't fair!
I had hoped for two weeks, since I found out the date of the pregnancy test, that I would have good news to share on Thanksgiving. Instead I was disappointed, and I had to disappoint all those I love by sharing that news with them. It is a horrible, horrible feeling. A lonely feeling. No matter what Jason says or does, it is still a lonely process. He has been wonderful, has gone to almost every doctor's appointment with me, has been understanding and caring. I know he is disappointed, too, but it is not his body that continues to fail.
So last night while others were celebrating together, I was at home crying. I could not find anything to be grateful for yesterday. Intellectually, I know how blessed I am. I never forget how fortunate I am to have the family and friends I have, the husband I wed, and the precious, funny, energetic, polite, intelligent son I adore. But it was a hard night.
This morning is better. I have been able to look ahead to January, when we will say hello to the frozen embryos we are fortunate to have and hope that one of them will grow into a baby brother or sister for sweet Luke. I am able to realize how thankful I am for my family, for my friends around the world who have sent me messages of comfort and hope, and for those who live here in Caracas who have helped me through the last three days. I am grateful for my school and my friends here who serve as my family away from home. I am thankful that I have the means to travel home to see my family at Christmas and in the summer, and thankful that I have a wonderful family to come home to. I am thankful for my God, who despite not answering this prayer the way I wanted Him to, still supplies all my needs. I want for nothing I
need.
In the meantime, I'm going to have a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, exercise vigorously, and eat all the lunch meat and hot dogs I want.
I saw my first two Broadway shows - and I hope to see many more! I got to see Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Book of Mormon. I loved them both, though here is what I told my mom about Book of Mormon: "It was wonderful. I hope you never see it." It was so fun, lighthearted, sweet, serious, touching, and over-the-top offensive, all at the same time.
The writing conference plum wore me out, though.
