In transition

On Monday we found out the results of the genetic testing of our two embryos. We have one embryo that is normal and there was one that was missing the #8 chromosome. We have one. We have one little embryo that has made it this far. Monday I left myself get excited. I started picturing the transfer date, planning on what would be next. Then we met with the doctor. He let us know that only 3 of 4 frozen embryos make it through the thaw process. And after that, we have a 50/50 chance of pregnancy. My heart was crushed. I was overcome with regret that I had not done the fresh transfer instead of waiting for the genetic testing.  I feel like my choice to freeze this last embryo may result in its death and that feels really, really shitty.

When we were making the decision to wait for the testing, we asked the question of the chances were any different for success with frozen vs. fresh embryos. The response we got was not really. So we evaluated all of the pros and cons of waiting for the genetic testing and chose to wait. It felt like a solid decision at the time. Now I am terrified that my fear of a miscarriage will ultimately result in the loss of our final, normal embryo.

I have grieved the loss of the other 10. In many ways, I have been able to accept the loss of those embryos because they were not viable. They would not likely have made it, even in my womb. In reality, the fact that so many did not make it made me grateful that we had not tried to get pregnant again on our own. I looked at the numbers and realized that during our years of trying, the odds were stacked against us. I am thankful to the universe for giving me those 10 embryos. I have been able to find peace and healing in the process of retrieval, fertilization, and growing.

But it feels completely different with this last little one.

I desperately want this one to make it. I am so ready to be a mom. I have a strong desire to have a big baby belly. I want to not to be able to see my feet. I want to complain about being uncomfortable. To feel the baby kick inside of me. I want to buy baby clothes, prepare a nursery, and get excited for birth. I want to labor and deliver. And I want this little baby. Not another one, down the road. This one.

We are scheduled to transfer on August 13th and that is a freaking long time from now. Whenever I think about the fact that it is two months from now before we will know if the embryo can make it through the thaw, I am overcome by anxiety. I feel like time is slipping through my hands and that another year will be gone and I will be standing at the precipice of a new year with an empty belly. As I step out of the fog of regret, anger, and sadness I am finding the good in the two months I have been given. I am able to return to Nia where I know that I am able to heal physical and emotional wounds. I am able to go through a natural cycle, which will have me at a stable place for transfer instead of the hyperstimulated, not very happy place I was in after the retrieval. And I can do some spirit work to prepare for the first trimester of pregnancy.  I will count my blessings, note the abundance that surrounds me, and say a little prayer for my little embryo that is sitting and waiting to come home.

The reality of making a baby is that no matter how awesome the science is, no matter how perfectly I follow the directions, it is still a miracle. It still takes magic and I need magic.

The Power of Now

In my experience grief can sneak up out of nowhere and land like a ton of bricks, surprising both myself and those around me. It can be all consuming and crushing.  Sometimes it takes a trigger, like hearing a particular song or seeing something that is a reminder of previous lost pregnancies. Sometimes it can come from absolutely nowhere. Grief is infinite and nonlinear, moving like a wave through time and my body. Last Thursday night, I went to bed and read my book. My book is funny and it not at all about pregnancy, babies, or grief (or at least not in the particular chapter I was reading). Shortly after shutting off the light and laying in bed I was overcome with anxiety that transitioned into deep, deep sadness. I was grieving the loss of the 9 embryos that did not make it. I grieved the loss of the fresh transfer that we had so eagerly anticipated and planned for. And I worried for my two embryos that were sitting frozen in a lab, while we wait for the news from the genetics lab. My grief surfaced, rocked me to my core, leaving me exhausted.

I remember on Friday feeling a bit empty and stranded. The emotional and physical sensation was very much like the feeling I have felt in previous pregnancies just before learning that the pregnancy was over. I was positive it was a sign that this is not going to work. That the magic of all of the love and support that whooshed us into the process back in May had dissipated and that we were suddenly on our own. I was also at a loss with what to do with myself. I am an inherent planner. I love knowing what I am doing ahead of time and now that I found myself in a place of limbo with IVF I struggled to find my footing.

Then magic happened. I was gifted with a Saturday so incredibly rich with everything that my spirit needed; the day was uplifting and throughout the day my heart opened. My whole body soaked in the gifts of the day. Sunshine is good medicine for my body. As is fresh air, fresh fruits and veggies, laughter, time with friends, and getting moving.  I ate meals that day that were nourishing and exactly what my body wanted. We spent time in the sunshine talking with friends and participating in the farmers market community. I shared laughter with friends and went for a long walk. I released into being led by the universe from moment to moment, noticing that I was being given everything that I needed but did not know how to ask for.

Since then we've received messages from friends and family reminding us that they are thinking about us and sending us support. And each message is a gentle lifting up of my spirit and a reminder that the magic is not lost. We are not in this alone and we continue to be embraced by people who are holding the space and hope for us. And that is a very powerful antidote to the worry, anxiety, and grief. I entered this week feeling hopeful and more at ease. And for that, I am deeply grateful.