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.