Finished

Six and a half years.  That’s how long I’ve spent trying to get pregnant, except for the 9 months I was pregnant with Jack and the first year of his life.

10 IUIs, 2 rounds of IVF.  Countless doctor’s appointments, invasive tests, ultrasounds, acupuncture.   Hours on the phone fighting with the insurance company.  Shots, shots, and more shots.  Drugs.  Pills.  Supplements.

It’s over.  Our second round of IVF failed, and we’re finished.  I can’t do it any more.  My life has been on hold.  I’m 39, the odds are so small, it’s time to give up.

When I finally got pregnant with Jack, after 2.5 years of trying, I was ecstatic but cautious.  Every week I’d say “I’m still pregnant!” but tried not to dream about what it’d be like to have an actual baby.  I held back a part of myself from truly believing it until the very moment when they put Jack in my arms after he was born.  And then it was finally real.

So many people told me that the second child would come easier, that now my body “knew” what to do.  I put off trying to get pregnant again until Jack was 16 months old.  I wanted to breastfeed him that long, and I had barely recovered from the sleep deprivation, now that he was sleeping through the night.  I took two months to get a few things out of the way like an MRI on a busted knee and a mammogram.  And when it was time to start again, instead of going straight back to the doctor, I thought, let’s just try for 6 months.  Maybe it’ll work this time.

When nothing had happened, I went to see my doctor.  She was confident we could use the same method and have success.  After all, I was lucky enough to get pregnant after my first round of injectable hormones plus IUI.

But this time it wasn’t working.  I took more drugs, did more acupuncture, more rounds of injectables plus IUIs.  My cycles got worse and worse, and I finally told her I wanted to do IVF.

At my first consultation, the IVF doctor told me what he thought my chances were:  less than 10%.  I was devastated; I thought the fact I’d been pregnant before would be in my favor.  But my numbers weren’t good, in particular my FSH level.

Chris and I discussed it and decided to give it a shot anyway.  I know myself, and knowing I’d tried everything I could would be easier than second guessing myself years later.  So we entered the world of IVF.

For those not familiar, here’s the basic idea:  you pump yourself full of follicle stimulating hormones (via abdominal shots), which stimulates egg growth.  Normally, you release 1 or 2 eggs during a monthly cycle; with the drugs, you might release 5-20.  Then they perform minor surgery to retrieve the eggs, fertilize them with sperm, and let the embryos grow for a few days.  If there are any that survive, they put them back into your uterus.  Then you wait 10 days and take a pregnancy test.

I was on an aggressive schedule..  225 IU of Gonal F and 75 IU of Menopur (these stimulate the follicles).  That amounted to 2 shots a day, morning and evening, for about 9 days.  Plus 3 days of Ganirelix shots, which hold off on ovulating.  Plus the hCG shot, which triggers ovulation.  Plus a daily bloodthinner shot.  After the embryo transfer, I continued with the bloodthinner shot (makes for beautifully colored bruises) and then the daily progesterone shots.  All the other shots I did myself, in my abdomen, but the progesterone is intramuscular and Chris had to do those in my lower back.  It’s great bonding time with your partner, let me tell you.

I was also doing acupuncture twice a week, and doing several rounds of intravenous injections of Intralipd—I have some immunological issues that might cause the embryo not to implant, and this counteracts it.

Then throw in a whole lot of ultrasounds, blood tests, the egg retrieval, and the transfer.  It’s pretty much a full-time job.

I was taking also taking up to 12 pills a day of drugs and supplements, and drinking absolutely horrifying Chinese herbs the acupuncturist prescribed.

I’m not describing all this because I think I should be pitied.  Lots of women go through worse.  It’s more to illustrate…. how much it takes over your life.  And why, despite being devastated, it’s such a relief to be done.

I know I’m lucky.  I have a child.. my son.  Jack.  He’s a better kid than I could have asked for.  Every day, every single day, I feel how lucky I am to have him.  Some people don’t even get one child.

Nonetheless… I feel so sad that Jack will not have a sibling.  I know there is no guarantee with siblings… they may get along, they may hate each other, they may have nothing to do with each other.  But who else but your sibling understands exactly where you came from.. and exactly in what way your parents are crazy?

Sometimes I think, I should have started earlier.  I got married when I was 30.  I selfishly wanted a couple of years with just me and Chris.  I didn’t think waiting until I was 32 was too late.  I was 35 when I had Jack; I know a lot of people who have babies in their late 30s/early 40s.  I thought I would have enough time.  Maybe I should have gone to IVF straight away, as soon as Jack was a year old.  But I know it’s foolish to think along those lines.  There is no other path, there is only the one you’re on.

It’s finished now.  I never have to wonder again whether we’ll have another baby.  I never have to spend another agonizing two weeks wondering if the latest treatment worked.

I’ve been watching a lot of Battlestar Galactica lately.  It’s been a good distraction while I went through IVF.  There was a quote that struck me, from the Gaius Baltar character:  “Sometimes we must embrace that which opens up to us.”   It’s time to embrace what’s opened up for me.. I know who my family is going to be now.  It’s me, and Chris, and Jack.  And I embrace them.