Archive for the ‘IVF’ Category

My life as a science experiment.

June 16, 2011

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.


An interlude with Pizza

March 16, 2011

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

March 4, 2011

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

February 7, 2011

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 Great Divide

July 13, 2010

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.

Oh where, oh where have my boundaries gone?

October 3, 2009

 You know how as an infertile woman there is practically no one to talk to about what you’re going through?  Very few people want to know the details, or even the abstractions,  of the experience.  There is lots of “chin up” advice  floating around, and proclamations about how lucky you are because you get to sleep in.  At least, (apart from my gorgeous sister) that’s how I’ve experienced other people’s reactions with regard to infertitlity.   As such, my boundaries around this topic have firmed up considerably over the years.  I am very careful about whom I speak to about the emotional and physical journey of infertility.

I was therefore stunned when I found myself opening up to a lady at my local tea shop yesterday.  To contextualise this properly I should mention that I make tea cosy’s for the shop to sell.  They have been most kind and do not even take a commission on them.  I also buy fine tea from them on a regualar basis,  (because it is one of my favourite indulgences) and we have had a couple of friendly chats over the past six months.    So; we are friendly but not intimate aquaintances.

All it took was what I took to be a genuinely sympathetic look when I mentioned that we “sadly” didn’t have kids,  for me to regale her with the trials of IVF.   It helped that she mentioned that her SIL  had IVF and she seemed to know what she was talking about with regard to ovary stimulation and the steadily diminshing number of viable eggs that occurs after that first folicle number you are given.     But still…this is not like me.  I shocked myself and now feel terribly embarrassed. 

 It was just such a relief to be able to tell someone and for them to respond sympathetically.

Happy Birthday to me…

July 13, 2009

Well,  about a month ago I turned 40. Amidst the congratulations from friends there were many comments such as “It’s only a number”.  Not so.  You can probably guess who these comments came from.  Yes, that’s right – they came from those with young children.    As someone who is infertile the number 40 is pretty meaningful to me.  We had expected to have children (plural)  by 40.  I had expected to stop trying to conceive by 40.  I had expected to be moving on.  None of these things have happened and the fear  of being childless has increased.  I wonder if I will be able to move on once menopause hits?  I imagine then that I might then be able to say, “No, nup, never…it’s not going to happen”.  Until then….I’m on the other side of 40.

A couple of posts ago I received a comment which was really a link to a blog site.  It seemed to be very anti – IVF and was quite poorly written in terms of grammer, so I don’t think the author’s arguments were expressed very well.  I can honestly say I felt a little attacked when I investigated the site.  But I have decided to leave the link in as there are some points I believe are valid, such as considering the notion of Identity.    Plus…I want to make a point. It is the assumption that I, or “We”, as  IVF participants,  have not thought about such notions that I find offensive.   Of course I have wrestled with the idea that a child conceived from a donor egg may have unique challenges ahead in terms of  identity and their search for a place in the world.  Of course I have thought about adoption.  But each person must find there own way through this.  Who am I to judge another’s struggles or reactions to a gut wrenchingly emotional  time of loss and longing?  I bring to these decisions my own background and experiences of childhood, as does everyone who goes through such a journey.  The decision to do IVF, to adopt or to use donor eggs and/or sperm is not made lightly or quickly.     My decisions have been more like processes developed over seven years!  And yes, I am still questioning and still questing.    I am outraged, not that someone else thinks that I should think about such ideas, but that they would assume that I hadn’t!

How’s this for insanity?

June 8, 2009

So… I am one day late for my period.  One day late after an extremely stressful week which would absolutely account for the delay. Yet because my husband and I managed to have sex at exactly the right time last cycle I have hopes.  I have hopes after 7 years!  I have hopes despite the fact that part of the problem is getting the sperm to reach the egg!  I have hopes despite the fact that I’m 40 and my eggs are old.  I have hopes despite the fact that the last two IVF treatments failed because the egg didn’t fertilize properly, or at all.    I have hopes despite the image in the mirror reflecting back a chin full of hormonal pimples.  I have PMS and still have hope!  Hope? Insanity is more like it! (It’s killing me!)

Old Friends

March 4, 2009

It’s been one thing explaining the IVF/”why we don’t have children thing” to new friends, where there is no expectation that they will be understanding because we don’t “know” eachother yet.  It’s been quite another thing to deal with old friends and their various reactions to what we’re going through.
For example:

I went to Uni with X about 15 years ago.  It was a very intense and personal course and we became very good friends.  After Uni we flatted together until she met a guy who became her husband, and I met a guy who became mine.  Once we were married and lived a distance away from eachother we quite naturally saw eachother less.  Though we are not in frequent contact we have been privy to eachother’s successes and challenges.  Her pregnancies.  My IVF.  Two factors that have contributed, I am sure, to our fading friendship. 

During last year she never, not once, sent an email or phoned to see how the IVF was going.   She sent an email recently to see if we could catch up.  She sent in that email a link to a job website – I am currently not looking for work.  She said in that email “I hope you are well?”

How are you meant to  respond to that question from an old friend when you are not actually going well at all.  Should we be all polite and stiff upper lip and protect the old friend from our discomfort?  Or should we come right out and say it?

I said it:  “We are both coming to grips with the fact that IVF was unsuccessful” .

Her reply: “Yes, I kind of figured it hadn’t gone well.  Last year must have been very trying”.  Then she went on to tell me about how her daughter was doing and signed off saying some “mommy” thing about having to go now and clean up all the chaos that the kids had made in the loungeroom.

Does anyone else find this unempathic?  

I’ve just told my friend one of the most disapointing and sorrowful things in my life and she responds that she had worked it out (yet hadn’t checked in to see if I was ok) ; then she supposes that last year must have been hard (honey – it’s not just one year – it’s the implications for the rest of our lives at stake here) ; and then she regales me with stories of her children.

Now….in a new friend…I’d just write this, (and possibly them) off as being not very understanding people.  But  such a response from an old friend?  It’s hurtful that this topic is so uncomfortable for them that they can’t handle it or you, and so you lose contacts, and even if you don’t lose the friend, the friendship is hollowed out somewhat.

The new year rolls on.

February 9, 2009

I can hardly believe that 2009 is here…and that I made it through 2008 – the year of unfullfilled promises.  We started off 2008 with hope in our hearts for a successful IVF.    I’m not sure how we’re starting off 2009.  It feels like it has rolled on despite us.  I am not ready.  I haven’t even recovered after Christmas and New Years yet! 

Christmas and New Year’s was full of family…just not ours.  It has been a very, very sad time for us and yet we’ve smiled along with everyone else.   Just last weekend I found myself in the middle of a room full of women discussing child care and the hardships of being a Grandmother.  One of these women was my Mother.  It was so hard to carry on a conversation with them thinking that I will most likely never get to be a mother, let alone a grandmother.   It was so hard to sit there and feel invisible because I had nothing to contribute.  What can I know, or share of the difficulties of child-care?

A much more interesting, (i.e. interesting to me) conversation was occuring in the next room.  The next room was full  of men.  I wonder if it is always to be like this now, that I will find myself separate from the women and leaning towards the men who are suprised that I’m not with the women.  When did the sexes become so divided again anyway?  I don’t remember this division from Uni days…does it happen once people “settle down” and have children.  I can’t imagine wanting to sit in a room full of women talking only women’s business, even if I had children. 

I am left wondering where my true place in the world is.  I know that is not an uncommon existential question…but infertility lends it’s own bent to the problem.

We still have not decided if we will try donor eggs.  My Sister is still willing though she has to come off some medication first.  At this stage I think we might be ready by half way through the year.  If we are going to be ready at all, that is.  By then I will be 40.  I feel old.  Infertility makes me feel older than I am, I think.  Or maybe, I just am actually this old.