I was riding the okay wave. I was in this place of feeling like things would be okay. The pain and sadness just below the surface but tolerable and not preventing me from being able to move forward.
When we were in the hospital losing Abby, I said to C: “I can’t do this anymore”. This. Infertility. Failure. Having my heart ripped out. Having my soul forever changed. In the weeks to come, of course, I realized that I couldn’t not do this again. This. Chasing the dream of being a mom. Of having a child. Of having a family. We decided that we would just “be” for awhile. Just heal and love each other through the painful months to come. Maybe summer. Maybe fall.
We also decided to switch fertility clinics. So I got us a referral to a new place — the clinic that C’s urologist works at. Because these things take time. We got a referral for April 10 but both agreed that it would be just to chat. No moving forward at this time.
As April creeped up, something changed. We became ready to jump in again. Both of us tired of this lost feeling. This emptiness. This stuckness.
Right after we lost Abby, I confessed to Miss Conception that I just wanted to be pregnant again. And she offered me wise and comforting words but I still just wanted to be pregnant again… tomorrow… with Abby. I would love nothing more than to still be pregnant with Abby. I would be entering my 3rd trimester now. I would give anything to have my baby back and to have the last 3 months be nothing but a horrible nightmare. But somewhere along the line, acceptance has crept in and I am ready to give Abby a sibling. I want to be pregnant again — with Abby’s brother or sister.
Some might think it’s too soon but I just can’t stay in this stuckness anymore. Getting older, getting sadder, getting more hopeless.
We saw the MFM specialist on April 5. It wasn’t as traumatic as I thought it would be. I think it would have been worse if we had lost Abby at that hospital. Admittedly, I wasn’t a big fan of sitting in that room with all those pregnant bellies while mine sat empty and longing. It helped to know that they were all high-risk mommas too so the road probably wasn’t all that easy for them either and they probably weren’t taking those precious lives inside them for granted.
I mentioned all my “what ifs” to the lovely (and pregnant) resident who met with us first and she firmly told me that there was nothing I could have done differently and that it wasn’t my fault.
I wonder when I’ll believe those words. If I ever will.
We then met with the actual OB and he said that there was no reason to believe that we couldn’t have a successful and healthy next pregnancy. He said that I have a 15-20% risk of another abruption and that it could happen at any point in the pregnancy so they would just monitor me very closely. He said that someone with chronic placental abruptions is so rare that they only see it about once every ten years at their clinic. I asked him if it had been 10 years since the last one. He sent me for some blood work to look for anti-coagulating blood things and told me that I would start seeing them again at 11 – 12 weeks of pregnancy.
We left feeling hopeful.
On April 10, we went to our new clinic. The new RE (Dr. H) is very nice. And that clinic just seemed much different from the last. When I asked him about my poor egg maturity during our IVF, he said that they do retrievals 7 days/week at their clinic, not the one day/week like the last clinic. He said he wasn’t sure how Dr. M can make that work, but that because they have more flexibility around retrieval days at this clinic, hopefully they can address the maturity issues. It made me a little angry because maybe if our old clinic was better, we’d have frosties to transfer instead of being back at square one.
Everything was going well and I was feeling like this clinic might just get us our take home baby. And then my world crashed down once more. They don’t do IVF with someone of my BMI.
It’s humiliating to type those words. It reinforces all my hatred of my body and brings up all my doubts of myself. My worthiness.
Apparently they have no qualms about getting me pregnant (because they are willing to try IUI — you know the thing we’ve done 7 times already with no success), but because they are an independent clinic, they have no medical back up if something goes wrong with their semi-sedation during the retrieval.
My fight drained out of me in those moments. My dream of being a mom shattered again. The only thing that can get me pregnant is out of my reach. I know that there are people reading this who are saying, “well fatty, just lose weight!”. And there are a lot of people who pass judgement on people who try to conceive when they are overweight. If you are one of those people, please move along and don’t bother to leave any nasty comments. I hate myself enough for the whole world, I don’t need your help.
I have been trying to lose weight my whole life. I’m actively working on it now. Taking all those fertility meds did nothing for my metabolism. I’m not the fat, lazy sloth that you’re imagining. I don’t sit around eating chips and chocolate while watching endless hours of television. I could definitely be more active, but I am a healthy eater. I hate that judgement that if you’re fat you must be an unhealthy eater.
I did a little research on high BMI and IVF. It seems that these are the concerns:
– problems with sedation reaction — I was fine during my IVF. No problems with being/coming out of sedation. In fact, I don’t think the Vers.ed did much of anything for me. I was also fine coming out of full anesthesia for my D&C.
– women with high BMI are less likely to have successful IVF cycles, taking more cycles to become pregnant — I became pregnant after our first cycle.
– IVF shouldn’t be used to help fat women get pregnant because their fat is keeping them from getting pregnant — the thing that is keeping me from getting pregnant is my husband’s crappy sperm, not my weight.
I was completely demoralized in that appointment. I let him keep talking, clamp my cervix and do a swab, give me pages to get blood sucked. He said that he believes he can help us get pregnant and that he will talk to the medical director about any flexibility with their policy given my success with IVF in the past. All I heard was “you’ll never be a mother”.
Although I felt like dying would somehow be better than continuing to live life like this, I managed to crawl out just a tiny bit. There is — inexplicably — some fight left in me after all. I won’t take no for answer. If they won’t do IVF, I will find someone who will. Or I will go back to the old clinic if I have to. If they can make a reasonable case for trying IUI again (like maybe it could work now that I am on Metfor.min again and maybe that was the problem before), I will do it. But I am not going to waste more of my life, my precious few remaining fertile years on a procedure that just prolongs my agony.
First things first. Day three blood work. Schedule a sonohysterogram when day one rolls around. Come on Aunt Flo, let’s get ‘er done and let’s get this fight on.
Fuck you infertility.