A Tale of Two Babies

I had intended on blogging the story of T and O's birthday soon after their arrival. Life happened. TWINS happened and I decided I would wait until their 1st Birthday to publish the blog. I am really glad I waited as it has provided me an opportunity to reflect on their Birth Day, the past year, and being the transition into the role of "Mother of Twin Toddlers." It has been sweet to remember. It has been meaningful to acknowledge where I still have grieving to do. It has been a relief to let go.

August 2013 IVF Transfer

So...That's T and O's first picture. Not many parents get to say that their first glimpse of their children were at the blastocyst phase. I look at this photo and remember when the nurse handed us the photograph at Dr. Thompson's office. I remember scrutinizing the photo for any visible signs of genetic defects. As if I would be able to find some indication in this photo that would allow me the possibility to predict if one or both would fail. But they didn't. The cells divided, the blastocysts grew into embryos which in turn grew into fetuses, and finally into babies.

Our babies!

Top photo: O (Baby A)
Bottom photo: T (Baby B)

Oh how I love the 3D images of the babies. It was one of those moments of magic in the pregnancy. We felt like we were getting a preview of the little spirits we were going to meet in a matter of weeks. O held on to the position of Baby A throughout the entire pregnancy, sometimes by only a foot.

We went for our final ultrasound two weeks before the babies were born. We discovered that the babies had flipped and shuffled themselves into a position that perplexed the technician.  At Week 36 they had gone from both being head down, ready to rock an exit through the birth canal, to a transverse position with both of their heads on my right side. Their orientation was so different from previous weeks, and so intertwined, that the technician spent several moments following spines, legs and feet, and heart beats to solve the mystery. 

Following the Week 36 appointment that I started to let go of our birth plan for a natural, vaginal birth. A vaginal delivery was one of our ideals, we knew it was a remote possibility but a possibility nonetheless, so it was integrated into our dreams around bringing our twins babies into the world. The orientation of the twins was an automatic trigger for c-section. Beyond that, my belly and uterus had grown so large that my OB was concerned my contractions would not have the strength required for vaginal delivery. The confirmation of c-section brought a complex wave of emotions to the table. There was a part of me that felt relief that I had a solid date to look forward to; no more guessing, waiting, and wondering. I knew that on April 21st I would be meeting my babies.  I also felt immense sadness that I was not going to deliver the babies naturally.  I was afraid of the surgery and recovery. I was happy I could spend the next two weeks preparing for the surgery. I dove into working with my OB on a birth plan for our c-section that would preserve as much of our original plan as possible (e.g., immediate skin-to-skin, lowered curtain).

The day before the babies were born was Easter Sunday, one of my favorite days of the year. The weather was gorgeous, we enjoyed brunch with my parents, and planted a bush in the backyard to mark the day. I was nervous and excited with anticipation. Beth came to the house and gave me a pedicure while talking to me about the surgery, the arrival of my littles, and delivered incredible care in both friendship and homeopathics. By the time Beth left, I felt strong and capable and ready for what awaited me. 

I kind of wish I could remember how I slept that last night before the babies were born.  If feels like a detail I should remember. I do remember the morning of preparing to get to the hospital. We both took showers, realizing that was probably the last uninterrupted shower for a long while. We joked about when I could have my first cup of coffee after a 2 year hiatus.  I daydreamed about food I could eat after the babies were born and heartburn was a thing of the past. 

I was ready too early, feeling anxious about getting to the hospital on time and being READY.  We drove to the hospital, ended up having to park in one of the overflow lots, and I waddled my happy self to the OB triage for check-in. It was a flurry of activity as the nurses took my vital signs. Peter was steady by my side. I could tell he was nervous and excited and also doing an amazing job of keeping me distracted. Sarah and my mom were there as well, supporting me through conversation and laughter. We met the anesthesiologist and went over our birth plan. He had a very calming presence, was supportive of our birth plan, and was happy to go over everything in detail.  He said he would help to remind the surgical team about our desire to have skin-to-skin right away and said he'd ensure the curtain was low enough for us to see the babies being pulled out. 

My OB came into the room to say hello and check-in and instantly tilted her head to the left and said "You're belly is listing to the left!" She did one last ultrasound just to out of curiosity to see what orientation the babies were in.  And that was it. I said my goodbyes to mom and Sarah and we started to prepare to leave the room for me to head back into surgery. 

Behold the mighty belly, carrier of two full sized babies.

The protocol for c-section is that the momma has to go into the operating room on her own while they administer the epidural. This was the part I was really scared of. I was scared to leave Pete. I was scared to have a needle poked into my spine. I was scared to lose sensation in half of my body. As I sat on the operating table, with the flurry of doctors buzzing around me I focused on one of the last things Sarah told me: to let the fear wash over me and let it go.  I focused on my breath, listened to the gentle words of the anesthesiologist, and let the fear flow through and out. I still have body memory of the pain of the needle with the numbing medication. I still have whole body memory of the fear of "what if the medication doesn't work and they cut my belly." I also have memory of how much of a lifeline the words of Sarah and the anesthesiologist were for me.

After I was on the table and they had me positioned, Pete was allowed to come into the room. He took his seat on a stool near my head and we began talking and joking. The anesthesiologist that he met in the hallway was a father of twins and he gave words of encouragement.  It seems like a matter of seconds before they were busily cutting my belly to bring my babies in the world. It is a very, very strange sensation to have a c-section. It literally felt like my OB was wrestling with my belly. I was aware of my body being moved and shifted and pulled. The anesthesiologist was talking gently into my ear, guiding me through the process. 

That moment when my OB was holding O above the curtain so that I could see her was amazing. Breath left my body. She was beautiful perfection. I was flooded with emotion and was barely able to say her name. And then, within a minute, T was up and just as beautiful and wonderful. There is no way to describe the intense love that I instantly felt for these two tiny humans. They were pulled to the side for the nurses to quickly evaluate. Peter stood by them during that entire time, telling me about them and describing them to me. Soon they were both on my chest, our family together for the first time. 

O 6 lbs 6.8 oz and 20.5 inches long
T 7 lbs 2.7 oz and 20.75 inches long

I am grateful for my OB and the doctors that were on our team throughout the pregnancy. I am grateful for every single prayer, kind word, whoosh of support that has been sent our way from the beginning of our journey. Being a twin momma has really brought home the saying of "it takes a village" as I am certain there is no way to raise twins without support from friends, family, and even strangers. 

More than anything though, I am grateful to be momma to these two beautiful souls. Our family feels whole now, our hearts bursting with love and gratitude. We are blessed with giggle, cuddle sessions in our bed in the morning, shrieks of laughter, snuggles, and sloppy kisses. We are discovering each day that it is possible to love more and more deeply than we thought was possible the day before. If all this is in just the first year, it is easy to become excited thinking about the future.

Agnew family fun time at the zoo!
(O is sporting her sun face and T is giving us his cutest smile)

Holy cuteness!

Nostalgic gratitude

I had envisioned keeping this blog going on a regular basis, transitioning from expecting mother to mother of twins. Technically, regular can have a broad definition. This entry plus my post on breastfeeding, can define regular and regular is therefore once every 11 months. So with that, I am right on schedule.

We're t-minus 15 days to having twin 1 year olds and I am feeling hugely emotional about it. Parenthood, for me, is this odd paradox of being the fastest slowest time ever and I am not quite sure I am prepared to be saying goodbye to babyhood so quickly. On the other hand, I am excited to see these tiny to-be-toddlers developing in front of me. I am in awe of how much can happen in a day/week/month. In one moment, I am eager for T and O to begin running around the house. And in the next moment, I am lamenting the loss of the days when they would just lay on my chest and cuddle for hours.

I have been reflecting on our journey. My heart swells whenever I think about all of the people who stepped up and in for us throughout IVF, pregnancy, and this first year with the twinkies. I love looking at the messages, photos, and whooshes of support throughout all 38 weeks of pregnancy, carrying us to a remarkable 38 weeks of gestation before bringing T and O into the world. I fondly remember Beth coming to do my toes the night before Birth Day, helping me to relax and supporting me with conservation, homeopathics, and her friendship. I was able to talk through my anxieties and start the transition to going into the hospital and I felt so much more calm after her visist. I remember our first 24-hours home together as a family and how that was strengthened with the presence, love, and compassion of our friend Sarah. There were the wonderful souls who came over to help me with the babies those first several weeks after Pete returned to work. They have no idea how much I needed them during those days and I am so grateful for the moments spent with them. There were the meals from fellow twin mommas, connecting me to my Big Sister Jenn who continues to be a lifeline and I adore having her as a friend. Rachel was reliably there for us, helping me to feel connected and helping to keep our dogs happy and healthy which felt utterly impossible those first months of parenthood. Jason helped me transition back to work and has had my back whenever I need that reassurance in finding balance between work and motherhood. There are so, so many more moments and people and things that I am grateful for.

My gratitude for everyone who has helped us, prayed for us, cheered for us, and pulsed us love is so deep that I am overcome by emotion just thinking about it. Thank you for being there, supporting us. Thank you for sharing some great moments and memories with us.

Thank you for loving my babies.

The making of Boob Food

Breastfeeding is no fucking joke. It is by far the most painful, frustrating, difficult thing that I have ever had to do. Every single woman who has ever breastfed, whether it be for a day, a week, or for years I high five you. I cheer you. While realizing that a high five and cheer comes nowhere close to being what you deserve.

There is no shortage of information for new mothers on the benefits of breastfeeding. Do I want my children to have robust immune systems? Yes! Complete nutrition? Of course! How about lowered risk of heart disease? Definitely! Close bond with me? Absolutely! All of these things are possible for me and my babies. All I need to do is breastfeed, the most natural way of providing nutrition to my children. Women have been breastfeeding for as long as humans have existed. It is natural. Natural means it will happen if I just try right?

None of the information I read prepared me for the reality of nursing, let alone nursing twins. Nothing prepared me for the incredibly intense and overwhelming experience of laying in the hospital bed, hours after delivering the twins, attempting to breastfeed my new son. The clucking of the nurses, the two to three sets of hands around me and the baby.  The tisking with the realization that my nipples are inverted (who knew there was even such as a thing as inverted nipples? WTF?) and the explanation that I will need to use shields and pumping to convert my nipples. More hands. Pulling. Twisting (yes, twisting). More advice. And pain. Lots of pain.

We used all of the resources available during my stay in the hospital. Lots of advice. Lots of guidance. Explanation of what a good latch is vs. a bad latch. Pumping. Advice on how to increase milk supply. The introduction of hand expression (think milking a cow udder). Around all of this is this energy of - you need to nurse. You need to get your supply up. Here are things that you SHOULD eat. Here is a list of things to avoid. The word SHOULD echos throughout.

After we were discharged home the breastfeeding attempts continued. By this point I was having to supplement with formula because of their percent weight loss. Feeding times involved feeding at the breast, followed by syringe feeding of formula, followed by pumping, followed by syringe feeding of the pumped milk. All of that would take two to two and a half hrs. The the babies and I would sleep for three hours. Exhaustion. Stress and exhaustion limit milk supply.

Meeting with the lactation specialists involves more information. Me laying in a chair with a hungry baby laying at my nipple. Another set of hands, pushing, squeezing, showing how it should be done. More discussion of what should be done to help with latching. And supply. And more pain. Me pushing through the pain and exhaustion because I want to breastfeed. I want to give my babies the best possible everything, which means their momma's milk. So I keep pushing. I diligently follow the list of things I should do. And not do. I feed. I pump. I teach. I become afraid of the pain of latching. And then...I crash.

That is when I decide to allow myself to bring something different to my relationship with feeding my babies. I shifted the energy of feeding time. I worked with the lactation consultant to reduce the duration from two and a half hours to one hour. I discover that ease for me means ease for the babies. I can feel my body healing. The ease we have discovered brings rest and rest brings energy that can be devoted to my physical recovery which in the end means better milk supply and benefit for my babies.

My shift does not mean that I do not love my babies any less. It does not mean that I desire anything less than the best for them. In fact it takes quite a bit of love and devotion to these littles to make the choice to shift so that they are getting what they need for nourishment. We are snuggling more and pain is out of the picture. Fear is still lingering around but I keep reminding myself that I get to keep choosing and shifting. What is true today will not necessarily be the truth tomorrow.  This is the right choice for me and my babies for this moment, so I am going to breath in the sweet smells of baby skin. Gaze into their eyes and smile. And tell them how much their momma loves them.

Story telling

After years of trying to conceive and multiple miscarriages I developed a story that my body cannot support a full-term pregnancy. There has always been a tiny voice that would softly whisper that this story was not true and I focused quite a bit of healing work trusting that voice. I slowly soothed my sadness. I worked on healing my physical self, the entire time working from the assumption that the tiny whisper was my truth and opting to ignore the story being shouted at me. The words "I cannot be pregnant" would resonate louder with each pregnancy loss but I clasped on to the whisper of "yes, I can" like a life line.

The story of not being able to carry a full-term pregnancy ran as deep in my body as my desire to be a mom.  It was not until the beginning of last week that I was able to exhale and release the story. Yes. It took 36 weeks of carrying twins before I was able to release and let go. Up until last week I had been holding my breath, wondering when the loss would occur. I hyper-analyzed every movement from the babies, every change in symptom in a fear-driven desire to prevent impending catastrophe. The story of "the body that cannot" was kept smoldering with various complications like the hemorrhage early in the pregnancy and the bleeding/pre-term labor at week 32.

I remember being in the hospital at week 32, bleeding and overcome by fear. I remember thinking this was going to be the moment of my body letting me down, delivering my babies too early, and that we would be facing incredible loss and sadness. I also remember Pete standing next to me, holding my hand and stroking my hair, telling me that I was okay. That the babies were okay. We set goals together and as we hit each of them, he kept the focus on how my body was doing exactly what we needed it to do for the babies to stay in for a while longer.  With his help I was able to start confronting the conflict between the story and my truth. The babies were thriving. I did not deliver them early. I was released from the hospital despite the initial prognosis of emergency c-section and then possibly staying there for weeks.  I did it.

In the USA, over half of twin pregnancies are delivered before week 36 and weigh around 5 pounds on average. I am sitting here at 37 weeks, with my laptop balanced on my 47+ cm belly, typing this blog. When the babies were measured for growth 5 weeks ago they were 5 lbs and today we find out how big they are (we're betting 6 to 6.5 lbs). Last week my cervix was still high, closed, and without pressure behind it. And two weeks ago, when they were evaluating the health of the babies with ultrasound, each baby had more fluid than what they usually see for a singleton at the same gestational age. All of this information is what it took to finally let go of the story of impending pregnancy loss. Not only have I carried my twins to full-term, but they have thrived in my womb. I have listened to my body and the advice of my care providers and here I am, days away from meeting my babies.

I sit here, newly released from the burden of that story, facing the next phase of motherhood. The babies will be here before I can comprehend. With these two littles I will be working through the story that I am not good enough to be the mom that I desire to be. I will be breaking family cycles and discovering how to be best version of myself as wife and mother. While I am at times terrified that I will not be successful, I keep coming to the knowledge that I am able to change and let go of stories that are not working for me. I have the resources to educate and take care of myself. I have an amazing husband that will be here with me. I have an amazing circle of friends, family, and community to support me. I am not alone.

This is my body

I remember when I first became aware of my body vs. what outside expectations were for my body. I was in Mid School, shopping with my mom, my aunt, and my cousin. I thought that my cousin was gorgeous and we were shopping for a fancy dress for her to wear. She came out in a stunning gown and I remember commenting to my mom that the dress was beautiful. And the reply? "The dress is beautiful and looks great on your cousin, but it'd never work on you. You're not thin enough." That was all it took to shift my awareness from having fun and playing to judging my body against what was projected as beautiful. It was the start of body shaming, worrying about how I might be beautiful. This became so deeply embedded in me that eventually I no longer had awareness of the critical voice. It was as normal to me as breathing. Ever present, happening without thought, impacting my choices.

It was years (over a decade) before I really got a handle on my weight. I discovered step aerobics thanks to a grad school office mate who talked me into coming to class with her. I remember total apprehension but also a desire for my office mate, who I deeply respected, to see me take steps to being a healthier weight. So I went. And I had fun, and soon I noticed I was shedding pounds. So I went more often. I shifted my diet. I felt I had unlocked the key that put me in control of my body. This was also timed with the planning of my wedding, a time when I was desperate to be thin enough to fit into the beautiful gowns I was pining after. I wanted to be told I was beautiful and avoid hearing "You're not thin enough" when I found the gown of my dreams.

I eventually lost 40 pounds. Looking back at the photos I am amazed at how much weight loss and toning I achieved in less than a year. I looked freaking fantastic. I also remember not feeling like I had hit the mark. I remember on my honeymoon feeling ashamed to be wearing a bikini on front my husband who was utterly flabbergasted that his wife was still ashamed to show off her body. A body that I should have been damn proud of. But whenever I looked into the mirror I could still see areas that needed more "work." No matter how many times Pete called me his "hottie wife" or would say "You are so beautiful. Do you know that?"I would shrug him off and tell him he was only saying those things because he was biased. He had to say those things because we were married.

A year later I discovered Nia. I totally stumbled into Nia, showing up for a step aerobics class only to find out it had been cancelled and replaced with Nia. Since I had carpooled to the gym and I hated the weight room, I stayed. I stayed, I participated, and I loved it. I discovered a way to get sweaty, have fun, and feel great physically. Much like step aerobics, I dove head first into Nia. I was driven to soak up as much of the goodness I was feeling as possible. And in the tumbling desire to go deeper into Nia, to tap deeper into this practice that was shifting me in unknown ways, I took the White Belt Intensive. I had powerful moments of discovery during that training that changed my life and my relationship with my body. I came out of that training seeing me. Seeing a capable body and seeing the beauty in my body. After that training, instead of shrugging off my husband's compliments, I could hear them and say "thank you." And even on those days when I was not able to see what he was seeing, I was reminded by his words that my body is beautiful and I trusted.

Through Nia I found empowerment. I found a way to be healthy. I discovered how to love my body, in all of its iterations and forms. When I gained ten pounds with each failed pregnancy I knew that I had tools to get back to my target. I knew that I could move through the emotions of what we were going through and be okay. I bought fitness clothing that was daring and fun. I enjoyed dressing up in beautiful dresses. I embraced my body, my sexuality, and played.

Pregnancy is a whole different ball game. I find myself really leaning into the tools I collected over the years. Every day my brain has to reconcile what it sees in the mirror with what I believe to be true and stand that up against the noise of weight gain and fitness during pregnancy. There is a lot of noise about weight gain during pregnancy. There are books, websites, and doctor's pamphlets on how much weight to be gained. It is always done in a tone that implies that going over the mark means you should be ashamed. There is the OB nurse who measures my weight and then makes a face when saying "another four pounds!" There is just the psychology of 200 pounds. That was the weight I never wanted to go over in my non-pregnant life. So each time I get weighed and I am four pounds closer to 200 pounds I instantly feel worried that I am "gaining too much" and there is also a voice in my head that freaks out about whether or not I will lose all of this weight.

I need to remind myself daily, usually multiple times a day, that I am healthy. I am eating healthy, I am feeding and growing two babies, and my body is a new beautiful. I also have to remind myself that part of the weight are two very healthy babies that are in my belly. I remind myself that I am following the guidance of my doctors and literature for twin pregnancies. Any time I hear the voice of shame creep back in, I refocus myself on the goal  - to grow two healthy weight, full-term babies. Sometimes I have to do that every hour. I have to refocus after hearing a comments like "you're so huge!" or seeing myself in the mirror and noting the changes in my body.

As I have been reflecting on the changes in my body I discovered that part of my road to a happy baby belly is more than just growing my babies. It is also finding ways to get past the noise and love myself in this new form. It is finding pride in my body's ability to sustain TWO human babies. The reality is, what I am doing is really pretty magical and the fact that I am 20 weeks pregnant with twins is worthy of some body love and awe.

Milestones

Over the past three months I have really come to appreciate the word "milestone." I can feel both the distance and weight of that word. The wait between the transfer of our blastocysts to the first pregnancy test felt like it went on forever, but in reality was a short one week weight. The news of that milestone, a positive pregnancy result, felt major. It felt as if we had made our way up and over the first boulder, taking the first step towards our next milestone.

Since all of our previous pregnancies ended between 6 and 7 weeks, we would frequently talk about how great it would be to make it to 8 weeks. We even talked about how great we would feel to just clear that 8 week milestone. And we did. Our little twins were thriving at the 8 week appointment. We cleared another milestone. However, I was not overcome by relief. Instead, I found a whole new milestone to worry about (the end of the first trimester) and so the weight of the 8 week check became the anxiety of wanting to make it to 13 weeks. It was also the moment of realizing that there will always be something to worry about when it comes to the health, well being, and happiness of the twins. So I have a choice. I can given into the worry and spend my energy in the low dream of all of the terrible potential outcomes. Or I can hear the worry, acknowledge it, and shift it.

It is immensely helpful to have a partner like Pete. His faith in these babies and this pregnancy is so strong and that gives me something to lean into when I a feeling doubtful. He brings clarity to those days and moments when I am feeling uncertain and scared. I remember one day I was worried about a particular sensation I was experiencing and was worried if it was a "sign." Pete reminded me that we are officially in uncharted territory for us, so we do now know what is normal and so we are in a mode of discovery.  Pete has jumped two feet into the river and is out there, holding my hand as I very slowly and cautiously make my way in. I know that he is there, solid and ready.

The scariest milestone so far has been graduating from the fertility clinic. Our doctor and the team at the clinic have been amazing. They are the most empathetic and compassionate people we have met in the medical profession.  Throughout the worries and questions they have been there for us. I feel protected and taken care of and it is slightly terrifying to leave the comfort of their care. The fertility clinic feels womb-like to me and it feels safe. They helped to nurture and grow and make this pregnancy a reality. I know that it is time. I know that we have gone beyond their knowledge and expertise. I also know that this is really good news. We are pregnant, with twins, and we need to get the care of OB/GYN and perinatal docs so that the babies continue to thrive. As I sit here looking into the next phase of doctor care, I am scared.

Today I am just two weeks away from clearing the next pregnancy milestone of starting my second trimester.  It feels at once forever away and just around the corner.  I have some bleeding/spotting that feels like a challenge from the Universe to see how well I can listen, choose, and trust.  It requires balancing the knowledge that bleeding and spotting is normal, that other women have experienced it throughout their pregnancies, with the fact that it does not feel normal to me. I have to shift my stories around what it means. Rewrite the stories from previous pregnancies and remind myself I am in uncharted waters.

I feel like I am doing pretty good with the worry choices. I also realize that I am also deep in the river of pregnancy hormones, which shifts both when and what I worry about and how well I am able to choose how to react to that worry.  I will continue to take it one day at a time. I will keep doing my best.

Triggered

Shortly after my last pregnancy lost I found a blog specifically for couples healing from multiple pregnancy losses. One of the topics I appreciated was an entry on recognizing that the impact of a pregnancy loss is more than just a moment. That there can be any number of triggers to remind the mother and father of the trauma of the loss, specifically seasonal triggers, so grief and fear can appear from seemingly nowhere. For myself, the majority of my losses have come in the July and August months. For the two losses that required surgery, those happened in August and September. I definitely recognize that I enter this time of year with quite a bit of charge. I am aware of a sense of holding on and in.

More than the seasonal triggers, I am aware of all of the physical triggers I have been experiencing the past week after receiving the news of a positive pregnancy test. I distinctly remember one day last year when I suddenly felt emptied. Like my whole body had been vacated. A few days later is when we found out that we had lost the baby and I was headed to surgery. The other pregnancies also had moments of a shift in sensation that registered in my system as warning signs. As a result, it is very easy for me to slip into a dialogue of "Are my breasts tender enough?" "I am tired, but am I pregnant tired?" "I do not feel like vomiting in the morning, this is probably not a good sign." I compare sensations this time to previous pregnancies, analyzing to determine if I feel more pregnant this time.

On Thursday, I was at a peak of anxiety. I was desperate to KNOW. That was also the day that I had the realization of several important facts: my increased sense of worry that day was not indicative of catastrophe but rather a perfectly normal thing for a (expecting) mother; there is absolutely nothing that I can do to change the outcome - even if I could sense the start of the loss of the pregnancy; and, I can choose to live in fear or I can choose to let myself be excited. We are pregnant. Right now. It does not matter how many were lost before, there is as much potential for a full, happy pregnancy as there is for the alternative. So which one do I want to choose?

Pete and I have been easing into this, much like someone would ease into murky waters. We step carefully, check-in frequently, and actively choose what to do. We are both ready to fall in love with our baby(s) and are both careful. To cope, we keep ourselves focused on the small milestones like the first and second blood tests. We keep ourselves distracted and we keep our focus on the high dream. The next milestone is the scariest so far - we go in for the 6w scan tomorrow morning. All of our previous pregnancies have stopped in Week 6...there is no way to describe how it feels to be facing tomorrow.

I sense that each week, each moment of parenthood involves worry and wonder, starting with conception and continuing on forever. I can see why. From where I sit today, there is no love greater than that of a parent - the child is an offspring of a mother's heart, her spirit, and dreams.  I am so ready to know this kind of love.

Standing on the edge

Tomorrow is THE day. It is Transfer Day, when the doctor will transfer the best looking embryos to my womb. Tomorrow is the day that we have been looking towards for month. As I stand here, at the precipice, I am terrified. It is like standing on the edge of the mouth of a dark hole that I am supposed to jump into on nothing but the faith that I will come out of the other end and land on my feet. There is no knowing what is in the hole, what I might encounter, how easy/difficult the trip will be. 

I am aware of how many lessons are packed into this experience. My acupuncture doctor reminded me on Thursday, there is really no way of knowing what the outcome will be. As I have experienced with my multiple losses, it is possible to do everything "by the books" and still end up with loss. And I know from watching and observing those in the world around me that it is also possible to have everything wrong and end up with a healthy baby. I realize that if I can let go of my fear of doing everything right, that I will have learned an important lesson that will aid me as a parent. I am aware that recognizing how little or how much control I have over an outcome will prepare me for moments like the first day of kindergarten. I believe that awareness is a gift and I am thankful that I am able to stay in that practice and see my growth now, and in the future. 

I was surprised by the fear I have around the transfer tomorrow. I think that I was perfectly content to be in the space of preparing for Transfer Day while not really processing what transfer will actually mean. So the "Oh shit!" moment of "Saturday will be the start of my pregnancy" caught me off-guard. I was faced with processing the truth of tomorrow. The possible outcomes, positive and negative, and questioning whether or not I have the core strength for it all. My fear also made me think of a quote from Brene Brown that really resonated with me the first time I heard it:

"When we lose our tolerance for vulnerability, joy becomes foreboding." 

There is so much vulnerability in becoming a parent. And there has been so much vulnerability in my whole system as I have navigated infertility. There was the moment of being able to admit, verbally, to others that I am not able to do this on my own. Admission of a need for help means working through all of the shame, all of the guilt, and being vulnerable. When we started IVF, I made a conscious choice to share my journey on this blog, so that I could use writing as a way to process everything and to share my journey with friends, family, and strangers. I do think that I am edging up on tolerance level and am feeling the pull to put up the walls and hit pause on being vulnerable.

Brene Brown goes on to say that "Joy is the most terrifying emotion we can experience." I wholeheartedly hear this today. Joy for me, on this journey, is becoming pregnant. Joy is becoming a mom. Joy is loving my baby so much that I cannot believe that it is possible that they are a part of me. I am scared shitless that it will not happen to me. I am scared that I will have no idea what to do and I'll end up being a total failure as a mom. So I do what Brene calls "dress rehearsing tragedy." I think about how we will get to the doctor's office and find out there is nothing to transfer. I imagine suffering another miscarriage. I am aware of when this spiral kicks in. I am aware and know I can chose to do something different. I know that I can soften into joy by choosing gratitude. 

Today I have been working at not "dress rehearsing tragedy" and instead practicing gratitude. I have given myself permission to be present and hear the emotions swirling in my space. I will take this moment by moment and count my blessings each step of the way. 

The Art of Being in Flow

I am frequently amazed at how quickly time can pass and by how much can happen in a short period of time. Weather shifts, decisions are made, memories are created, and growth happens. It is particularly useful for me to reflect on this fact after a period of time of feeling stuck. There are times, like most of the month of July, when I feel desperately stuck. I wonder when the shift will happen, where I will be after the shift, and if it will involve my desired outcome. It is also during these periods that I feel like nothing is happening. Then, I reflect back and realize that actually a whole lot happened and that I am indeed in a different space than where I started.

In May, after we learned that we could not do a fresh transfer, we decided to do a frozen transfer in August. That was our decision and we were sticking to it. While we would talk about things that we needed to start doing in preparation (e.g., acupuncture, ordering of injectable hormones, scheduling days off work) we just could not put that first step forward. So we just kept sitting with the decision. When the topic of donor eggs came up, we allowed ourselves to open up and consider an alternate path. We noted an immediate shift in our energy and found ourselves set into motion. So we went with the flow of this new energy, observing the roots and asking ourselves "What else?" It got us talking about the reality of the frozen transfer. And about our reasons for not doing a second round of IVF. Where were our decisions being made from fear and where were they being made from love and hope? Where were we in flow and where were we getting stuck?

 We discovered that the frozen transfer is not our desired path. We were both immobilized because in our hearts, in our essence, we were aware that we could get to the morning of August 13th and find out that C1 had not survived the thaw and that we would be in the same place we were January 1st with one more loss. We also realized that another round of IVF holds quite a bit of hope for us. The worst case outcome is that we do not get any blastocysts and we do a frozen transfer. Best case scenario, we get multiple blastocysts and can do a fresh transfer of two and keep some with C1 for later.  That realization put things in perspective.

For weeks we had thought that choosing another round of IVF was the fear-based choice; a choice based on the fear that C1 would not make it. The reality is that the frozen transfer was the true fear-based choice as it was coming from a space of finding out that I could not grow more eggs. Clarity. Understanding. Relief.

Over the past month, I became aware of the fact that one reason preventing me from saying yes to another round of IVF is the feeling of shame. Infertility is loaded with shame. From as long as I can remember, I had been taught that women have babies. Period. Making babies is our magical power and it just happens. My family is fertile so there was never any doubt in my mind growing up that I would make babies. When I discovered that I could not have a successful pregnancy on my own I was deeply ashamed and convinced I was a freak of nature. Over time I have realized that I am not alone in my experiences, that I am not a freak of nature, and that there is hope. There was shame around going to the fertility doctor. Then I heard stories from women who went for treatment and had success on their first try which provided hope and a layer of shame when the first round did not end up as planned. So what does it say about me if I need two rounds of IVF? Thankfully I now recognize that shame. I am calling it out and I am working to shift that story.

As soon as we decided to go for a second round of IVF we both found ourselves energized. Phone calls were being made and planning and hopeful energy was back in the space of our journey to parenthood. Our energy shifted 180 degrees and it became even more clear that we were on a choice that is right for us. There have been so many moments over the past 5 years that I have wondered what decision I should be making for successful pregnancy. Many moments of feeling lost and worried that I am making the wrong decision. But each step of the way, I have practiced being open. We have leaned into our marriage and the essence of our couplehood, and stayed in flow. I believe that has served us well and I also believe that these are all lessons that will continue to benefit us when we are parents.

We are back on the IVF roller coaster with hormones starting Saturday (August 2nd). The retrieval will be either August 12th or 13th with transfer planned the week of August 19th. We're envisioning two fresh, beautiful embryos for transfer.  We are also working to make other shifts to create the space for peace and passion in our home.  Each day is a conscious effort to step with awareness and with an open heart. Infertility and IVF does not have room for self-judging and closed spaces. Instead it is a constant invitation to allow ourselves be supported and to see what magic can happen. When we are in this practice, even during times of feeling stuck, we are actually making steady progress to shift away from what no longer serves us and into what we desire.

Hindsight is a real bitch

Infertility can be a terribly isolating diagnosis.  While I know that many women have infertility and that the majority of them have success stories to share,  there is always that voice in my head that is aware that their story is not my story. And while I am boosted to hear of so many success stories with IVF and other fertility treatments there are moments when my experience feels so unique and overwhelming that I need some more than hearing about other's experiences. There are moments when I would much rather have the crystal ball to be able to look ahead into the future to know if I am making the correct decisions. 

I have been depleted since the retrieval and the news that we needed to wait until August for our transfer. My energy has been low, my emotional realm has been zapped, and my mental realm is going gangbusters with fear stories.  I have been feeling stuck and wondering where release is going to happen. I have been searching for a reason for why I have been given the burden of infertility and why it is apparent that I have shitty baby making luck. I have been feeling regret about decisions in the last ten years of my life - none of which, in realty, I would change because of where I am now - most of which feel easy to blame for my current struggles. Regret is not a great emotional space to spend much time in. Feeling stuck isn't either and it can make me feel desperate for change change.

I have been going to Nia to dance with my experience, find my sweat, and be in community. These past two weeks, as I was taking class I have become aware of how I am finding the moves in a new routine and able to make the choreography work for me. I was flowing in and out of movement and into and out of community with ease. There is progress. There is flow. So I have been able to carry with my the awareness of progress and flow, no matter how small, with me outside of class. I have been able to remind myself that I am making good choices for my body. I nurture it through movement. I have been making better food choices, choosing to eat so that I feel better physically and not falling into the pit of emotional eating. And I have asked for help. 

We have been focused on the fact that we have a single blastocyst (C1) that is viable but that there is only a 75% chance it will survive the thawing for transfer. I practiced positive thinking and dreaming of our desired outcome but have felt deep regret for not doing the fresh transfer without the genetic testing. I have been meditating on a series of questions I once heard from Loretta Milo (Nia Trainer and Life Coach) - What do I want? Is there a different way to get what I want? Pete and I do not want another loss and that includes both the loss of the blastocyst during thawing and a miscarriage after transfer. Pete and I talked for a while about repeating the retrieval process to see if we can get more blastocysts for the transfer. Based on the information from our doctor and the clear message from my heart, we knew that was not a viable option.  Adoption has always been on the table but we have not felt ready to invest in that route just yet. So we continued to sit with the questions. 

Then a friend of ours stepped in and said "I want to donate my eggs to you."

Our first reaction to this was "no." For us, the recipients of the egg, it feels like too huge of a gift to accept and it was not something we had even talked about. So we started talking about it. Together, with our friend and her husband, we're exploring this as an option for us. There are so many emotions tied to IVF by itself, but considering a donor egg kicks it into high gear. It is really facing the limitations of my ability to create a baby. It is grieving the loss of my eggs as participants in making a baby. It is exploring what it feels like to have a baby that I will carry and deliver but that will not have any of my DNA. It is feeling out the fact that egg fertilization, even when it happens in a petri dish, feels incredibly intimate and it would not be my egg. It is processing what it means for the relationship with the egg donor - anonymous vs. friend. It is realizing that this option does increase our success in August.

A second blessing from the universe came at class on 4th of July. A woman I have taken Nia classes with for years approached me to let me know her story of infertility and that she eventually went with a donor egg. The rush of relief at meeting someone who had been through so many years of infertility and ended up with a donor egg was immense. It was the help, resource, and experience I was needing to find to pull me out of my fog of isolation and to show me hope.

I am thankful for each moment of progress and flow I have found in the past week. I am thankful that today I was able to spend time taking care of myself and able to get perspective on where I am going. I am deeply grateful that the Universe delivers what I need, when I need it, and that most of the time I have the awareness and open heart to receive. 

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.

Believe

I admire my husband's ability to believe, wholly and completely that this round of IVF will work for us. That we will get pregnant. I love that he hears good news and that it bolsters his belief and makes it strong. I need to have that dose of optimism and faith that he provides because it sustains me during days like today when I am filled with doubt.

We have two frozen embryos that are waiting. Two samples are set to be shipped to the genetics lab on Monday with results coming a week later. I really, really want to believe that one of them is a viable embryo. I feel like not believing is giving up on these two little embryos and that if I do not believe they will not make it. But wow, waiting and hoping and believing for the next two weeks feels like a huge effort and I am tired, anxious, and wanting my answer now.  While waiting two weeks seems short in the scale of how long we've been trying, the fact that we have been waiting for years is precisely why waiting two weeks feels so epic. 

I sustained belief that this will work for us all last week and when we did not get to do a fresh transfer my belief faltered. I was boosted with the news on Sunday that we have the two embryos that grew enough for biopsy but there is a level of awareness of how old the embryos are vs. where we've gotten in pregnancy and, there is quite a bit of fear that neither will be viable.  I also received the news that if this round is not successful that IVF is not a viable route for us and that we'll need to talk other options, including donor eggs. Donor eggs had not even crossed my radar as a possibility and suddenly I find myself slogging through feelings of inadequacy for the hypothetical scenario of needing donor eggs. I am clear and absolutely believe that if there is a transfer, that I can sustain a pregnancy. I fully believe that my body is capable, as she has demonstrated a willingness to hold a pregnancy in the past. Why is it so challenging extrapolate that into believing that my body is able to produce at least one egg that becomes a healthy embryo? 

I know that we will be parents. I do not know how or when or what road will get us there, but I know it will happen. I pray to God that it happens with this IVF. While we wait we will keep doing what nurtures hope and we keep stepping forward in the process. We stand by our garden each day, celebrating the growth of our seedlings that we planted on Saturday, finding comfort and strength in seeing something tangible grow from our care. We lean in to each other and communicate. We allow ourselves to be supported by friends and family who bake cookies, send movies and books, and drop us little notes of love. And...we wait, believing that in two weeks time we'll be scheduling a transfer.

And then, there are the valleys

This week has been rough. I hyper-stimulated from the HCG trigger shot, leaving me feeling pretty yucky and spinning up my fears. Bloated, in pain, and guzzling Gatorade like crazy I have been desperate for relief from the symptoms and scared that it was a "sign" that this whole IVF thing was not going to work.

Throughout this process I have been keeping at bay the fear that there will be a moment that this dream will not end happily ever after. And I have been successful...mostly.  After 5 miscarriages it is not an easy thing to trust that pregnancy can happen for me. It is much easier to slip into the belief that I am cursed to cycles of losses. There is far too much data to support it. For years and multiple pregnancies we have dove into whatever it takes to improve our marriage, improve our health, and shift priorities to create space for a baby. And for years that dream has not manifested.

When we decided to go the route of IVF it was because we were hopeful that the process would work for us. It was also to get some closure on what has caused our previous losses. The answer to the question of "why" was lying along the path of stimulation hormones, progesterone, retrieval, fertilization, and transfer. Our analytical minds could understand breaking things down to the little steps and looking at it through a microscope to find out how it was all working. And then, we would end up with a baby at the end of it. Closure and dream come true - we're all in.

Of the twelve eggs harvested, 11 fertilized. We got the call this morning that of those 11, 8 had stopped growing and were losses. There are three that have slowly grown to this morning but are not at the stage for genetic biopsy. It was time to make a decision - do we do a fresh transfer without a genetic biopsy and hope for the best or do we see how much growth has happened overnight, biopsy, and schedule a transfer down the road?  It feels like a huge decision. It feels like a test of how badly do I want a baby. It feels like a test of my faith. My brain is clouded by the fact that 8 little embryos did not make it and those feel like little losses.

Am I choosing from love or from fear? I have great clarity that I do not want to endure another loss if at all possible. In there is a little bit of fear of what I may become if I lose another baby. Pregnancy loss is a dark place and each time it takes longer and longer to pull out of it. And my ability to find hope is diminished with each loss. So there is also a component of love for myself and my relationships in all of this.

But what if I am meant to take this leap, transfer what we have, and see what comes of it?

I am not sure what the *right* choice is. We have decided to wait on the transfer and see what happens tomorrow. If our three little embryos continue to grow, they can biopsy and then freeze them for a transfer date in 1-2 weeks. So for the next 24 hours we pray that our little ones keep going, keep growing, and that our dream is not over yet. We are both aware that this is completely out of our hands and that we are riding the wave of becoming parents. Yet, that feeling of powerlessness does not get easier and the frustration of really wanting something and not being able to do anything to manifest it is ever present.

I am aware that the news that we received this morning is our answer to "why." The majority of my fertilized eggs do not result in a genetically viable embryo.  I won't ever know why my eggs did not produce viable embryos in all 11. It could be from exposure to toxins, genetics, really bad luck, etc. But I do know that it means that the previous losses were not because of something I ate, or going to a concert, or any of those actions.

I enter my day feeling quite a bit of sadness at what is not meant to be, desperate hope that our three embryos are viable and flourish, and a sense of closure.  I am also moving with a little bit of fear of what the news will be tomorrow. But all I can do is move through the emotions of today while holding tight to my hopes and dreams. It is not over for us.

An Agnew dozen

We are officially t-minus four days from the transfer date. On Sunday, May 26th we will be headed to Dr. Thompson's office to complete the transfer of our embryo(s), welcoming them "home." We're currently circling in a holding pattern, waiting to hear how many of our embryos can be biopsied and then again, how many of those biopsied are good for transfer. It is kind of a numbers game right now. And, we're kind of killing it.

The retrieval was very successful. They were able to collect 12 eggs, right on target with the statistic that 2/3 of follicles will produce eggs for retrieval.  Peter (AKA Gladiator of Loin Juice) provided his army of soldiers who were delivered to their task immediately. And to apparent success - eleven of the eggs fertilized, surpassing the statistic of 80% of eggs fertilize.  We are spending the next five days encouraging along our little embryos so that they might grow enough for biopsy on Saturday and so that we get a number of embryos for transfer.

One of the things I am thankful for is that I have been able to shift some stories I have had about my body this past week. At the start of IVF I had the belief that my body "did not like" synthetic hormones and that I would not be able to take them without major side effects. I had the story that there was something fundamentally wrong with my ovaries and that I would not generate more than 6 to 8 eggs in this process. I had the story that I could not handle anesthesia and that it was going to be "hard." My truth is that none of these stories are true. I was able to handle the hormones with minimal side effects. The majority of the symptoms came after the very first dose and then my system seemed to equilibrate. More amazingly, my body really responded to the medications and grew follicles faster than we all expected, moving everything up by two days. I grew TWELVE eggs that were happily harvested this week, while under anesthesia. I woke up from anesthesia feeling great after about 30 minutes, able to enjoy a sweet afternoon and evening with my honey.

So now that all of those stories have been busted as myth I am now aware that my biggest story - that I am not able to carry a successful pregnancy - could be bogus as well.  This is a big story. It is the thesis statement of my relationship with myself and my pregnant body and one that I have been working on shifting for a long while. I am aware that my self-healing has been chipping cracks into this story and I am ready to break it wide open and emerge from it with a full, happy belly.

I am using today and the rest of the week to tie up loose ends and to create the space for me to take care of my newly transferred embryos through rest and ease. I am calling in support through acupuncture and family for support this weekend, before and after the transfer. I am visualizing the most comfortable, welcoming, and warm environment for implantation and growth to happen. Both internally and externally.

Grow, grow, grow little embryos. We are ready.

Gladiator of Loin Juice

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I present to you, the one and only...

THE GLADIATOR OF LOIN JUICE

Also known as my husband. Also known as my hero.

When we first started with our fertility doctor, Peter submitted a semen sample for assay analysis. This was just to get an idea of the overall health of his sperm. He got the call from the nurse with his results and immediately contacted me to share (more like brag) his results, which indicated that he was above average for all of the parameters.

Me: You're like the superstar of semen.

Peter: Spooge master? Gladiator of Loin juice? I think I like "Gladiator of Loin Juice." I'll have to make a t-shirt.

Pete has a great sense of humor that he has continued to bring to the IVF process. From whispering in my ear to tell me that my "chocolate chip scones look delicious"(referring to my ovaries with follicles) during the scan at the doctor's office to singing a theme song for injection time, he has gently kept my spirits up and positive. I am sure this was a scary prospect to him. Not only was he tasked with doing something way outside of his comfort zone, giving my the twice daily hormone injections, he was also not sure what kind of hormonal wife he was going to have on his hands. Regardless of his fears, he has been present, holding an incredibly vast and safe space for this experience. On top of that, he has taken on more of the household chores, allowing and encouraging me to rest and take care of myself. 

To say I love Peter does not begin to express my feelings. I am deeply grateful that he is my husband and that we are creating a family together. I am eager to see him as a father. I get to witness the gentle, compassionate, playfulness that he will bring to our children. He is amazing and he inspires me to be the best person that I can be. I dream of the great family memories we will create together and the amazing people our children will be.

We were originally scheduled for retrieval on Wednesday, May 22nd and are very excited that it has been bumped up to tomorrow. My body responded very well to the stimulation hormones, growing 18 giant follicles. During our scan on Saturday we got the green light for an early retrieval and did the "trigger shot" of HCG last night. Tomorrow morning we go in and our Agnew baby(s) begin and we'll have two embryos transferred on Saturday, May 25th. After months (and years) of waiting and wanting we are both excited and a little bit in disbelief that this is happening now and so quickly. 

Tonight we're prepping ourselves by picturing plump and happy eggs that are ready to be partnered with the top ranking sperm. We went to a nice dinner, added some touches to the nursery room, and have been talking about what is next in the process. We'll know by Tuesday how many fertilized and will be shifting our focus on the growth of healthy embryos that are ready for transfer. Incredible to think that the transfer is just one week away. And if all goes well, will be the first date of my pregnancy and the welcoming of our baby(s) into my womb. 

We continue to be touched and honored by the love and support coming from our community of friends and family. Your positive thoughts, words, and prayers are very much felt and appreciated. You raise us up and are a big part of the nurturing that we are doing. Together, we nurture to hope and to receive.

Wanting

I think that it is human nature to look for an answer to the question of "Why?" when something sad and unexpected happens. In moments of tragedy we search for any reason to help us resolve what has happened in our hearts and minds. And, to take actions to prevent the tragedy from happening again. After my first pregnancy loss I was okay with the statistical reply of "1 and 3 women have a miscarriage during their first pregnancy." An astounding number but one that my analytical brain could wrap around. The miscarriage was natural and my body was simply doing what she needed to do. And then the second loss happened and my heart needed more than statistics. Had I worked too much? Was it the salty mongolian beef I ate at lunch? In 2010, we had gone to a Modest Mouse concert and then two weeks later our 8w ultrasound found fetal demise and aged the fetus at 6w. Instantly I went to blaming myself for going to that concert, making that single instant in time the reason for our loss. After the fifth loss I was searching for any reason.  Should I have missed that prenatal vitamin? What if it is because I didn't laugh enough? Should I have skipped that Nia class? What did I do wrong?

Did I lose this baby because I did not want it enough?

The journey of healing after our last loss was difficult. Overcoming the story, the ghost, that my losses were because I did not want a baby enough took a lot of work. There were moments when I felt that I was dragging myself up and out of the loss and grief, building strength to recognize the ghosts and stories and put them away. I made it. We made it. Emerging stronger and ready for the next step for us, which turned out to be IVF. 

I have been finding that voice of dissent, asking me "what if you do not want this enough" seeping into my thoughts. I know it is a ridiculous question. I know how much I have wanted a baby and for how long. I know that my pregnancy losses were not the result of a choice I made, an action I took, or a seemingly lack of desire. And this time is no different. That voice does not belong here and so I say "Hello, I hear you and goodbye."  There are definitely things that I am worried about, purely out of not knowing what to expect and from being a woman embarking on motherhood. I must not mistake my fear and worry about what lies in the future as an indication of a lack of desire. It is quite the contrary. My fears about whether or not I will know when to stop breastfeeding or how to teach my baby how to do things or how I will keep him/her safe are perfectly normal and a clear sign that this is something that I want.

We had our appointment today to check on how the follicles are growing with the stimulation hormones. My follicles are growing better than expected and we could be looking at an early retrieval date if we keep up the current pace. We have many follicles growing and there is hope for plenty of eggs being available for harvest.  All great news and it is exciting to think that things will be happening sooner than planned. 

So why this post? Well, I realized while walking the dogs tonight that all day I have been carrying myself with heightened awareness that I am growing something that is very important to me.  Consequently I have worried about walking too much, resting too little, eating the right food, drinking enough water. I recognize that old ghost of "wanting this enough" coming in. And I realized that this is an opportunity to play and move through this.  I know how to listen to my body and fully trust that she tells me what is needed. I also know I can choose to listen.  I have a huge box of tools to pull from, a support system to lean in on, and the knowledge that I can do this. So tonight I am making the choice to lay down instead of giving the dogs a bath. I'll pull out my book instead of sending out emails. And I'll continue to make it up as I go, staying tuned within, and to the dream. 

Engage!

This past week, I set the intention of staying present in the moment. I wanted to experience each moment, living in the fullness and soaking it all in. I also knew that staying present in the moment, and not looking too far into the future, would help me with all of the anxiety I was feeling around Wednesday's appointment and my last Nia class on Thursday. By living the moment I could stay RAW (relaxed, alert, and waiting) and create the space to receive whatever came in the next moment. It proved to be the perfect tool for the moments of anxiety and a rich gift to myself for the unexpected moments of the last five days.

To say that I was anxious on Wednesday morning would be an understatement. We had purposefully planned the morning with time so that we would not feel rushed getting to the appointment. We went to our favorite breakfast place and spent the morning talking about desired outcomes and high dreams. And then my husband gently kept me distracted as I became more and more anxious. The fear of "no" was creeping into my system and I was so afraid to hear the words "you will need to wait" or "this does not look promising." I have had many trans-vaginal ultrasounds over the past several years. And very few are associated with positive outcomes. In fact, it was during a trans-vaginal ultrasound that we found out that our baby had died last July. Same with the proceeding pregnancies. I realized Wednesday that I have a whole body fear response to these types of ultrasounds. I do not trust that I can receive good news from them. I associate them with heartbreaking news and the end of a dream. 

We arrived 30 minutes early to the appointment and we were seen right away. Within minutes we had the news we were hoping for - everything looks great. Both ovaries had ten follicles (AKA chocolate chips, as dubbed by Pete). Lining was perfect and we were given the go ahead to start hormones Saturday.Relief, excitement, and hope all came rushing in as if they had been just under the surface waiting for me to release the gates and them them in. I appreciate the warm support of the staff at our doctor's office. I also appreciate how clear they are and how information is parceled out in chunks that we can process and we do not get overwhelmed having to look too far past the present moment.

I have had so many incredible moments after Wednesday's appointment. Thursday's WHOOSH class with Beth was incredible and one that I will not forget. I danced my fears, my dreams, and with how much I am going to miss dancing Nia with my tribe. I was overcome with grief, grief that felt like it had been sitting in my system, cumulative from all the years of losses, whooshing out. Nurture, hope, and receive was the triad focus for class and a reminder of what all we have been doing for the past four years. I realized that I am at a very different place emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually than I was when we had our first pregnancy loss. I know so much more about my body and fully trust her. I have been nurturing myself with a better diet and exercise to create a body that is ready to receive and nurture a baby. I know how to read the signs of my body and that there are tools like acupuncture and massage to help moderate symptoms. My relationship with my husband has strengthened and I am so much more in tune with the essence of our marriage than I was when we started this journey. 

Peter designed the perfect pre-injection/birthday on Friday. I have so many intimate, soul-nourishing, and joy-filled moments from our day together. We were kicking off the start of growing our "chocolate chips" and celebrating that in two and a half weeks our embryo(s) will be transferred. We spent time in dreamland, imagining what our lives will be like. And joked about whether or not the world is ready for a mini-Pete and Diane. 

Injections started on Saturday and so far so good. Dr. Pete is awesome at painless injections. I am feeling great, other than a bit tired, and am looking forward to seeing how our "chocolate chips" are doing at the appointment on Tuesday. Envisioning twenty strong follicles, ready to keep on growing and reaching. Just ten days to retrieval. Operation Star Trek Baby - Engage!

Embryonic

Tonight was my last night teaching Nia for a while. I was surprised at how anxious, scared, and sad I felt going into class. I love teaching and I love my students. I have not been without Nia and teaching for 4 years and as I stood on the ledge of days without Nia I became aware that I am scared of what will happen to me without Nia. I entered class with no expectations and a simple desire to dance the Joy of Movement. Class was magic. I was able to move my fears and anxiety, emerging at the end of class with a sensation of peace of spirit and excitement for tomorrow. I realized that I am going to be okay.


In Nia we use the five stages to describe where we are with learning. Embryonic grows to creeping grows to crawling grows to standing grows to walking. I am aware that I am still embryonic in my journey to be at ease with how much of getting pregnant is out of my control. What I did not realize until the last week is that I am am embryo surrounded by the most incredible womb of community. You all are there, arms open to hold the space for us. To hug us. To protect us. To create this amazing space for us to manifest our Star Trek Baby.

Last week I took the leap of publishing my blog to a wide audience. The response has been overwhelming. My heart is bursting tonight with love and gratitude.  Thank you to Erin and her class for holding class last Friday, dancing babies and mitosis for me. Thank you to the students who have reached out to me since that class, letting me know how much they are thinking of us. For the gift of a fertility goddess fetish. Thank you everyone who has reached out to us and for the thoughts and prayers. Thank you Beth for holding class on Thursday, whooshing me into the fertility journey. And thank you all for the hugs, the words of support, the reassurance, and for being a part of this journey.

I do not know what tomorrow's appointment will be like. I know that I can go in there open to receive and step-in. I also know that we are not going in there alone. That we are going in there surrounded by a wave of incredible love and support from our friends and family.  And for that, I am deeply grateful.

Today I found my voice

It has been a rough week. When I walked into Nia class tonight I felt whole body tired. Emotional realm was maxed out. Physical self just wanted to crawl into bed and wake in the morning. Mental realm? Zapped as well. And I couldn't even detect my spirit. Today, whenever I did a body check-in, I could not sense my spirit. I assumed this was because my spirit was maxed out as well. Today, I was very aware of the physical sensation of breathing. How each breath opened up my body and how good it felt. So today, I stayed with breath, using it to get me through the day until I could get to Nia.

I started class thinking that I wanted to flow and have a slower class of self healing. After the first song I was surprised when my spirit came alive. It was as if my Self was saying "Here I am!" The spirit realm was not maxed out. She had just been buried under the rest of my stories and sensations, laying dormant until the moment arrived that spirit could fly free. And oh thank goodness for it. I found sensation, the joy of movement. I let my spirit dance and I let go. I found my voice, really loving the sensation of letting my voice out.  I became aware that I had tucked my voice down and within this week. I had slipped into one of my old tendencies of curling within while pushing my spirit down. And it felt SO good to open up, release, and receive.

It was also during class that I decided to make this blog public. I "published" this blog and then sent the link to just close friends and family. I realized today that part of my intention behind the blog is to share my experiences with other women who have infertility. I also want to share it with people in my community to continue to be boosted by their support and well wishes. My truth that I realized is that I have been ashamed for people to know that I am going through IVF.  There is definitely a voice in my system that says "If you were a real, healthy woman, you would have had a baby by now and you would not need IVF." So if I let people know that I am going through fertility treatment, will they think less of me? Will I suddenly be outed as a woman who has failed at pregnancy? And today the question is - So what? My awareness today expanded to realizing that I am surrounded by people who care for me and who want to support me. I can let myself release into that support. I can lean into my community and allow myself to be held.

So welcome. And thank you.

Our baseline ultrasound is next Wednesday, May 8th. This is the appointment where they determine if all systems look like a go for starting the hyper-ovulation hormones. Here's a shocker - I am totally freaking out about the baseline. I feel like I am taking a test that I cannot study for and that I really, really do not want to fail. Due to an interaction between the birth control and antibiotics, I have been bleeding for the past four days which is like witnessing the shedding of the walls of a structure that I painstakingly built.  But the ultrasound is not tomorrow. And this interaction is not unique, in fact it is quite common. And there is nothing to do but wait while I continue to do things that I do have control over, like acupuncture, body work, soaking in the sun, eating well. I can keep supporting myself with sleep and stress reduction. And I can let in the support of others. So, I am requesting all of the positive energy and prayers that you all can spare. Prayers that we get to make a go of IVF this round and that it is successful.