Everyone loves a happy ending

I have had a draft of a post about the choice between public and private care  half finished for a few weeks now.  But another issue is on my mind.  That of the “Happy Ending”.

Throughout our 9 years of Infertility prior to pregnancy, there were very few people who would allow us to talk about our situation.  By “allow” , I mean that if we ever began to talk about our infertility in conversation, (when asked how we were doing or when we were going to have kids for example), we were very quickly shut down – usually through jokes or reflections on how lucky we were not to have kids, or directions to appreciate what we had.  I realise that this is because the topic of infertility makes people very uncomfortable.  It was really too difficult for anyone but my sister to handle.  May I say again, “Thank God for my sister!”

Now that we are pregnant the situation has changed.  We have inadvertently joined a club and those who were unwilling to hear of our struggles previously are now ready to listen to the story of how long it took us to have a baby.  Even though the baby isn’t even here yet.  Our story now gives them hope that things really do turn out alright in the end.  Not just things to do with procreation mind you, but things to do with any of life’s struggles.

This really irritates me.  I don’t want to be a poster girl for happy endings.  Yes, this has turned out well, so far.  (Turns out that I probably have placenta previa, so we’ll see).  But this outcome has  not been without sacrifice and loss, some of which are not healed by having a baby.  I would also wish for people to have some understanding that even if we hadn’t fallen pregnant, our lives would still have carried on.  We had, and still have, other worthy pursuits.    We also have a great marriage.  Which is a great blessing for a baby, I think.  But it’s also a great blessing for us.

Finally, the about face attitude change reminds me of that old cautionary chinese tale about good fortune.  Not that I’m comparing a baby to a horse here – just that good and bad come to us all in our lives, and sometimes we can only see which is which in the fullness of time.  This infertility journey has changed my life and my marriage.  For good or  ill, who can really say.   At this stage of my life I think,  perhaps, a little of both.

If I’m truthful, and I do try to be truthful.  I think I just wish that people had listened to our story when I needed them to.  When the outcome was not assured.  When I needed to feel welcome even though I did not have children.  I’ve spent so long on the outer rim of community that I don’t know how to behave now that I’ve been welcomed in. I don’t feel as though I belong.

All this is not to deny that I am grateful and delighted by the possibility of this child and the prospect of my own unique happy ending to this infertility story.

Joy and Guilt

I had my 12 week Nuchal Translucency ultrasound last week and felt joy about this pregnancy for the first time.  Turns out anxiety dampens feelings of joy.   Major discovery.   We had fantastic numbers and the counsellor said that they were very happy with the result and would not recommend an amniocentesis  for us.    I cannot express how relieved I was.  I had almost cried when the sonographer was scanning the back of the baby’s neck, thinking that the space that she was measuring seemed so large and knowing that this was not a good sign.  I mentioned to my husband that it looked much bigger than the picture on the brochure that we’d been given.  Somehow my husband’s brain managed to work out that the picture on the brochure was about 3cm X 3cm and the picture we were looking at was the size of a TV screen so that there was every chance the space being measured might look bigger on “our” picture.  But my brain couldn’t managed that complex a deduction and so I lay there for the rest of the scan with tears building as I watched the tiny arms and legs moving around, wondering how on earth I was going to make the decision to risk the pregnancy or to think about termination if something was wrong.

As our cousellor said after I disclosed how worried I’d been,  ”Well, now you can go away and process the good news together”.

And that’s what we’ve been doing.  We’ve now told my family that I am pregnant and I’ve been hit with a wave of guilt over my past reactions to my brother and SIL’s pregnancies.  They were so lovely when I told them about the pregnancy and so supportive of the decision to use donor eggs, (which I hadn’t necessarily expected as they are very religious people and I thought they might have some ethical issues).  But they said that they knew we would have spent a long time thinking about it and working through any issues and that there would be no judgement from them.   Bless them.  I cannot express how relived I am….and how guilty.  I actually cried on the phone when I was informed of their last pregnancy.

Guilt and joy.

My life as a science experiment.

One of my main concerns in using a donor egg was my fear that I would not feel that  the child was “mine”.  I wondered if I would bond with a resulting child and feared that if I did not then the child and I would suffer enormously. When I first raised the fear with my IVF doctor he shrugged it off lightly and said something along the lines of “Of course you will bond, when you feel that baby growing inside you…”

I felt as though he did not take my concern seriously and so went hunting to try to find articles about mother/child bonding where the child was from a donor egg.  Of the few articles I found, most suggested that there was little difference in interactions and bonding between Mothers and donor egg babies and Mothers and genetic babies.  A few even suggested that the interactions between Mothers and donor egg babies were more positive, intimating that this might be because the Mothers of donor egg babies were more attentive as they felt a need to make up for the shortfall in genetic bonding.    I did find one article that suggested that as the children grew up, the Mother’s of donor egg babies had more difficulty and some sadness to contend with as physical features were commented upon by those in their community.   Comments like “Doesn’t she have her Father’s nose” etc.

So I’ve been wondering what will happen in my own case.  Will I bond easily?  When will I start to feel like the baby is mine?

Not yet, as it turns out.  I’m 7 weeks pregnant and obviously it’s very early days yet, but I’m not feeling pregnant.  I’m feeling very sick with nausea and I’ve been feeling very anxious about spotting, but I don’t feel attached to anything yet.  I am hoping that will change a little at the 8 week ultrasound next week.  For now, I simply feel like a human science experiment.  The other day it crossed my mind that I am a surrogate for my husband’s baby.  I was pretty disconcerted by that thought.

Having said that though, I have been ultra careful with my food choices and terribly worried that I’ve overheated in bed and caused this poor little one some neural damage. So I care about the little one developing inside and am trying my best to support it, I just don’t feel like it’s mine.   In fact, I just don’t feel like there could be a baby at the end of all of this. Now I haven’t ruled out that this could very well be a protective mechanism against the possibility of miscarriage and failure, as has happened so many times before.   But I wanted some record of what I’m feeling now.  It’s honest.

I hope to be able to track a change in my  perception of this little being in the near future.

The long and the short of it.

The short: I’m pregnant. I’m spotting. I’m anxious.

The long: Well, obviously a lot has happened since my last post. My Sister started jabbing herself in the stomach for me while I had the easy route and swallowed some pills. She was a darling throughout the whole process. She admitted to being a little scared the first time she gave herself an injection but soon was sticking the needle into her stomach like a trooper. It all happened so fast. I felt quite disconnected from what was going on for most of the process prior to the Egg Collection. I was concerned about my Sister, but found it hard to be excited about the prospect of a pregnancy. That changed on Egg Collection Day.

I was extremely lucky to have been able to be in the room when they siphoned off her eggs. I met my sister at the hospital, sat with her as she froze in an over-sized hospital gown and fluffy dressing gown. I walked beside her down the grey hospital corridors on the way to the theatre and squeezed her shoulder as they drove the catheter into her fragile arm, administering the sedative. I watched with her as the image of her ovaries and follicles appeared on the overhead screen, followed by the thin instrument that sucked the follicles dry. I listened as they called out the number of eggs retrieved. It was a deeply personal experience. My Sister looked so tiny and so brave. She was and is so unbelievably generous. This experience helped me connect to the eggs that were given so freely to me.

And so the waiting began. From 10 eggs retrieved, 8 were fertilized, 6 made it to day 3 and 1 made it to day 5. Blastocyst day. Egg Transfer Day. There were none left to freeze.

The Egg Transfer was a breeze. The doctor and I discussed my Sister’s thesis topic throughout the proceedure. I believe the saying is…”as you do.”

Then we waited again. During the first week after the transfer I was hopeful. I allowed myself moments of excitement. Seconds of joy. Shortly before the two week blood test though, all hope evaporated and I was absolutely sure that it had not worked. I was convinced that my body had rejected this tiny group of cells. I prepared my DH for a negative result. I had no symptoms, other than exhaustion which I figured was probably emotional. None-the-less I was keen to get same day results and so I drove an hour and 15mins to the clinic so I could be assured that I did not spend a night in agony.

After the blood test, I had just finished driving along the 90km zone when the nurse called with the result. (Yes, I had pulled over as soon as the mobile rang – I have miraculously managed to retain some common sense throughout this ordeal). The nurse sounded happy. I began to cry when she announced the result. She said “Congratulations”. I never thought to hear that word applied to my situation. We chatted for a short while and she said that she’d let me go so I could make some phone calls. There were only two to make. One to my husband and one to my sister. We have not told anyone else. No, not even my Mum.

A couple of days ago I had a second blood test and my hormone levels were rising adequately enough. I had some slight spotting and my progesterone levels were only just above what they like to see, so we’ve increased the dosage for good measure. I’m adjusting my mind to incorporate the idea that I’m pregnant. I have found it difficult to accept the delight and positivity in the responses from the nurses. These are very early days and I still feel as though things could go wrong. I have decided not to beat myself up about this though. I think, after 9 years of failed attempts, I can forgive myself a small amount of anxiety.

There is still a long way to go and today the spotting has increased a bit. It increased after I’d done some exercise. I had been exercising aerobically almost every day prior to the egg transfer and the doctor said that I could continue. But I think I might bring it down a level, or maybe even have a rest until the next blood test. This is too precious to make a mistake with. And if it doesn’t work out, I don’t want to have any doubts about how hard I tried to care for this little embryo and its development.

Brandings

Do you remember that game we played in primary school where a number of people stand inside a circle formed by other people, whose job it is to throw balls at the people in the middle?  If you are one of the people standing in the middle it is in your best interests to try and dodge those balls which fly at you from all angles and leave tender bruises where they hit.   At our school we called it “brandings”.  At the IVF clinic they call it “counselling for donor recipients”.

We have survived several rounds of counselling. The counsellor herself was very nice.  The questions she was obliged to ask  required that we imagine far into the future of  unborn child. We had to propose strategies for dealing with emotional issues that may, or may not, arise at each stage of our child’s development.  We had to talk about the imaginary conversations we might have with our child, and with the donor, and with our friends and family.  We created a whole new universe in her office – one in which our child suffered no hardship from being conceived in an unorthodox way.  A universe where we knew exactly what to say to our child of, naturally, superior intelligence and calm disposition.   One where none of our friends or family were affected by our decision and one where we, as parents, were 100% positive that donor eggs were the right choice for us.    I can tell you it was a stupendously joyful place in which to exist for all of 40mins, after which we were plunged back down into the reality of childlessness as the cousellor fullfilled her duties by disclosing the very low success rate of donor egg cycles.  About 20%.  Still, that is nowhere near as low as the success rate we were given when we used our own egg. i.e. 1%.

So we have a green light and golden ticket and we are prepared to use it.

An interlude with Pizza

In a couple of days time my DH and I will be heading up north for a day jam packed with IVF activities, including one of those most delightful scans with a full bladder ripe for prodding.   You’d think my bladder holding capabilities would be at an all time high by now because I’ve had so much practice. But I still get anxious about this scan.  However I do have to be thankful for the fact that my cycle seems to have occurred at exactly the right time for the scan, despite having been all over the place for the last year.  I am beside myself with joy – my body is actually working to a plan!

One of the interrogations appointments will be with the clinic’s counsellor, so DH and I thought we’d better prepare.  We sat down to  run through the questions and suggested discussion topics sent with the information package, just so neither of us are blindsided by an awkward question that could damage our case.   We needn’t have worried.  It seems we’ve discussed everything all by our clever selves – well, we have had enough time to think about this after all.    Plus we have some back – up responses prepared for any tricky explorations into our motivations or fears.  The main one is; that DH and I have become even closer during this ordeal and are confident that we can deal with any problems or issues that arise from having a donor egg child.  When faced with any problems we will simply do what we do best – talk to each other and love each other.    We truly are that good!

So after doing our donor egg exam prep we headed off to give ourselves a treat, (another fail-safe problem solving technique). We dined at our favourite Pizza place.  They make pizza in the true Italian style – they’ve even got  a certificate from Napoli to prove it!  See…everything you do needs a stamp of approval from a governing body – from pizza crusts in a wood fired oven to unconventional buns in the oven.

 

 

Hurdle No 2 – Fit to be egg recipients

Actually this really could be named “The hurdle that wasn’t”.  DH and I drove for 40mins to our fertility doctor’s most local offices for a 10 minute “interview”.  We were really nervous beforehand, expecting a barrage of questions about why we’d waited so long since our failed IVF attempts to start the Egg donation procedure.   I had some good answers worked out, none of which were, “Are you kidding?  It’s taken me years to wrestle with the reality of my incompetent body and broken heart!”

In fact we were hardly asked any questions at all. It seems my Sister and her husband had done such a marvelous job in convincing the doctor that she was ready, we were ready and the whole experience was an expression of uncomplicated sister-love, that all he could do was smile and hand us the bill.  He gave us a little talk about his history in the job, saying that about 10 years ago he’d almost packed it in because positive results (i.e. live births) were so few that he wondered if he’d dedicated his life to devastation rather than creation.  But that luckily the situation had improved to a point where he felt justified in continuing his work.  Which is good to know.

So now we’re on our way to hurdle no. 3 – our big IVF appointment day.  A collection of interviews with the counsellor, the nurse, the accounts department and the clinic, (where I will again subject my body to that most delightful of scans involving the dildo-cam).   I’m actually a little worried about that one, not the scan itself but the results.  These scans are to check my uterine lining.  They are meant to be done between day 3 and day 10 of my cycle.  Normally I could try and work that out but last year my cycle began shortening and this year…well I’m now on day 51.  I’m winding down like a rusty, old bicycle.

We had a couple of  friends over to dinner last weekend and I let them know that we were going to do another cycle, though we’re keeping the “donor egg” part of that close to our chests for the time being.  One friend wished us luck and then let the words of that old chestnut rattle out, “I don’t want to get your hopes up but I have heard of people who’ve gone through IVF and then, low and behold,  fallen pregnant naturally!”

I wonder what age I’ve got to be and how many years we’ve got to deal with infertility, before people stop burdening us with that particular fancy.  I fancy that I’ll try an experiment.  I’ll wait another few years…perhaps until I’m 48 years old and then tell people cheerfully that we’re having one last run at an IVF baby.   I bet at least one of them will say, “We’ll you never know,  you might conceive naturally…”

Hurdle no. 1 – Egg Donor Approval

Today I received a call from the IVF Clinic’s counsellor.  She rang my mobile and I answered it in the middle of the yarn aisle at Lincraft.  A truly excellent venue for receiving news about your potential donor egg cycle.  Be that as it may, it seems that we have jumped the first hurdle.  My Sister is approved as an egg donor.  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be joyful about this.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m meant to be grinning and holding my head high as it looks forward to the potential birth of my  potential child.  Instead I have cried my heart out today.

I am a churned up, mushy cocktail mix of relief, terror, hopefulness and grief.   This news unleashed the grief of failed cycles and miscarriages that I have unintentionally stored deep under my skin.  To choose to go down this path is to admit that the other path is closed.  I’m 41 and in peri-menopause. I know it closed quite some time ago, but this draws the truth down from my head to my heart and it hurts.

To choose to go down this path is also to accept help from my younger Sister. The Sister I have previously cared for.  I never expected that she would be called on to give so much of herself to me.  I never expected that she would put herself at risk for me.  I feel concerned for her, though the risk is low it is still present.  It is very present in my mind.

To choose to go down this path is to accept that I will be an older mother who has had so much time to think about raising a child, and so much time to accustom myself to living without one, that I am no longer convinced that having a child will bring meaning, contentment, or happiness.  Through this infertility journey I have found out that those graces must be attained through self development, or self actualization.  They can be developed in all manner of ways – not just through having a child.  Knowing this, I had hoped to make it part- way down some of those paths before being responsible for bringing another life into the world.  I know my failings as a person more deeply now than I did when I first started TTC.    What I do not know is whether this is a blessing or a curse.

To choose to go down this path is to once more open my heart to the possibilities of success and failure.

The Final Fling

Well, we’ve decided to fling the last of our hopes and finances at one cycle of donor egg ICSI. We are at the beginning stage.  This Tuesday I drive my Sister, (our potential donor), to our doctor for the initial appointment, followed by an appointment with the nurses and another with the counsellor.  Three arduous appointments in the same day, arranged as such because my sister lives in a different city.   She is not their “ideal” candidate because she has not had children of her own.  I, too, am hesitant about agreeing to this for that reason – along with many others.

This is our last chance for a child.  I feel as though there is an expectation from the clinic that I should be enthusiastic and hopeful about this.  In reality I am sad.  I do not hold out much hope for the “approval” of my sister as a donor and, after our own wildly unsuccessful cycles, I do not hold our much hope for a successful outcome should the procedure go ahead.

What  I am enormously grateful for is the love that flows so generously from my Sister.  Love  that she has demonstrated every step of the way.

I am also so grateful, tired but grateful, that we are finally at the end.  Whatever the outcome, after this, we move on.  On and outward. Out into the world.

The Great Divide

I’ve got a little distance between the circumstances I’ll describe and my own distress, enough I hope, to have some perspective and not get myself worked up while writing it down.  Here goes.

I have a couple of crafty hobbies, one of which is knitting. Sometimes I wish my crafty hobbies included things like mountain climbing and metal work, because people don’t tend to want to include children in those activities, and I’m assuming that one is probably concentrating too much on the activity at hand to want to talk much about the parenting experience.  But I know that since knitting is a traditionally “female” interest,  it is going to attract many more women than men and most of those women are going to have children and because children are a part of their daily lives they are going to talk about them.

I know that if I choose to enter a group of women who knit, ( or any group of women or parents, for that matter)  it is likely that there will be a fair amount of talk about parenting, children plus the  sharing of  kids photos and toddler knitting patterns etc.   I have several strategies for dealing with this.  Such as limiting the time I spend  at meet ups – I rarely attend a whole day event.  When baby patterns or photos get shown around, I smile and pass these on quickly and return to my knitting.  I politely  move away from conversations that are mainly focused on children or babies.   If all else fails, and I find myself tearing up – I leave.   I hope that those people who know of me and my situation will be sensitive to my feelings. By this I mean that I hope they will understand why I employ such strategies.  I hope that they won’t take it personally if I absent myself from a conversation about parenting or give only a  glance to the  new baby jumper they are knitting.   I might smile and comment on the softness of the yarn, but probably will not comment on how adorable the jumper will look.  I might nod my head as they describe the difficulties of pregnancy, but I will shortly thereafter fetch a cup of tea.  I will be polite, though I know that sometimes I will not give the “normal” enthusiastic response to such items  and conversations  that women tend to expect from each other.  I offer this observation as a background to the following anecdote.

A year or two ago, a small knitting group started up in my area.  Until recently there was no set place or meet-up time, someone would volunteer their house or suggest a meeting point every month or so.  We didn’t know each other particularly well.  The usual questions arose at those first meetings: “What do you do?” “Where do you live?”, “Do you have children?”.  To the last question I answered, as I usually do, “Sadly, no”.  This was met with the usual responses: “Oh, Sorry”, “You can have one of mine” and “Have you tried [insert any number of already tried medical and herbal remedies here]“.  The usual.   After getting acquainted with our various fertile/infertile status, we all got on pretty well.  After about a year those who had volunteered their houses on a weekend were unable to do so anymore and we began to meet in coffee shops.  We chose one that boarded a children’s playground so that those with children could come.   The group shifted in membership and a couple of new people joined and I became reasonably good friends with one of the women.

One of the new members, ( “M”),   had a toddler conceived using IVF.  She was preparing for a second round of  IVF.   We had a couple of chats about the difficulties of infertility.  Within a short time of knowing her she became pregnant with twins.  We congratulated her and, unbeknown to me, my friend  in the group (who is currently a year into TTC herself)  asked her not to talk “too much” about her pregnancy because she thought that it might upset me.   To be fair, M is one of those women who do talk a lot about children and pregnancy and her own experiences in a very negative way, without letting others speak of their own experiences – but I;m not suggesting this has anything to do with the fact that she is a Mother, it’s  more to do with the type of person she is – she needs to be the centre of attention.

Sadly, a month into her pregnancy  she miscarried.  We all met up for an excursion to a yarn store and I told her that I was sorry to hear her news.  We talked for a while about the experience.  I can’t remember what I said, exactly.  I may not have been particularly helpful, but I’m very sure that I wasn’t cruel either.   During the course of the day I became a bit dissociated and teary for a personal reason totally unrelated to infertility.   In my dissociated state I had alluded to my friend’s efforts to conceive, though she had told me she was not ready to tell the group yet.  It was a small slip – a comment about vitamins and I’m not sure anyone else really noticed but I felt ashamed of myself.   I  apologised  to my friend and walked away to collect myself.  I’m sure my eyes were red on my return, but we all trouped off to have lunch together and chatted happily.

I returned home to find that M had written “Sorry, if I offended anyone today”, on a public forum on which we all communicate.  I sent her a private message and asked if she was referring to me.  I assured her that she hadn’t upset me and that I was upset for personal reasons.  I wrote that I was genuinely sorry to hear the news of her miscarriage and that I hoped she would be Ok.  Her reply indicated that she did not accept my explanation.  She stated that she knew I had a lot of problems, but that everyone had problems and she then went on to list a number of her own.  I replied again,  repeating the statement that I was sorry for her loss and adding that I knew it was important to talk about the miscarriage and that I hadn’t been upset by this.

A couple of months later my friend in the group offered her place for a Sunday meet up. A few people replied in the affirmative.   M said that she couldn’t come because her husband couldn’t babysit but suggested that we rearrange the meeting and come to her place instead so that her little one could run around.   My friend wrote that she’d prefer a child-free meet up if possible and repeated the offer to meet at her house on a regular basis. M replied “count me out, then”.

We met as we had arranged, at my friend’s house.  I came late, as I usually do when I think that I can probably only manage a couple of hours of women talk.  After the meeting my friend told me that before I’d arrived they’d been discussing what M had written online in another group forum.  At that time, I said that I knew M had a problem with me, but that I didn’t have a problem with her. She was just a pretty critical and negative person who I would probably never end up good friends with, but she didn’t affect me that much.  I said that after 8 years I was pretty thick skinned about the infertility thing, which is to say it still hurts like hell, but I’ve accepted that people cannot really understand it unless they’ve been through it, and that  it is ignorance which is at the heart of most hurtful comments.

When I got home I, quite stupidly, checked out the discussion M had started online.  I thought I’d find a few complaints about how difficult it was to deal with someone who was infertile, or about how it wasn’t fair that we didn’t change the meeting to her house.    What I found was exaggeration and lies.   She claimed she’d been told never to speak of her child for fear of upsetting me. As in, never ever mention the word child.  She also claimed that when she’d told us of her miscarriage that I’d smiled at her and said “Now you know how I feel, great, isn’t it?”    When someone questioned her about this, she said that she knew she hadn’t misheard the words or tone because I’d been told off by the group.  None of this is true.  I checked to make sure that nothing I said could have been interpreted this way.  I was reassured that whatever I’d said had been said in a sympathetic tone and that M seemed to have forgotten that we’d continued to talk with her at length about the pain of her miscarriage.   The online discussion continued for 10 pages, during which I was called an “infertile bitch”  and referred to as someone who “hates children”.  M stated that I should “just deal” with the infertility and “get help”.

I know this woman is slightly unhinged, and seems to have projected upon me views and values that I just don’t  have. She has taken my own personal pain as a comment on her somehow.   It’s not her personally that has hurt me so much.  But to be called an “infertile bitch” after 8 years of dealing with other’s pregnancies, children, invasive and rude questions and assumptions.  It’s been almost too much.

So many questions have arisen for me from this episode.

“Why is it that my infertility hurts others so much?”

“Why must there be this great divide between Mother’s and those who are childless?”

“Can’t we accept that both Infertility and parenting may be  difficult and heart wrenching for an individual?”

“Why must this be a competition in pain?”

“Why is the onus usually on the infertile couple to make the parents feel OK?” – for such is my experience.  In other areas of life, if someone has lost something precious, others don’t expect them to cater for the needs of the person who has what they have lost.   I know that’s a tricky one, but that’s the way it feels.