Hmm, it seems we are back where we started.
Let’s recap, and then check some facts, and see if anything has changed.
F is for fertility, which according to the dictionary means “the quality of being fertile; the ability to conceive children or young” …so basically, being able to become pregnant and deliver a baby. The flipside of which is, being infertile, or “being unable to reproduce” … so yes, opposites. Do they attract? Or do birds of a feather flock together? The world may never know.
What I do know, after personal experience and a ‘lil interwebs magic, is that infertility SUCKS. I also know that things have changed since I first talked to you about the F word….so let’s start there.
General facts about infertility…
THEN (April 2018) NOW (July 2023)
• 1 in 8 couples experiences infertility • 1 in 6 couples experiences infertility
• 15 out of 50 states mandated • 21 out of 50 states mandate
qualified employers to cover some some sort of coverage (42%) and 14
level of treatment (30%) of those include IVF
• Average cost of IVF $12,500+ • Average cost of IVF $18,500+
• Average cost of meds $3500+ • Average cost of meds $5000+
Now on to some personal facts.
THEN (April 2018) NOW (July 2023)
• I was 29 years old • I am 34 years old
• 1284 days into our journey • 3213 days into our journey
• I believed pregnant was easy • I obviously know better
• I'd never seen a positive home test • I've seen those beautiful double lines
• I had no idea how strong I was • I know I'm one strong MF'er
• I was happy and hopeful • I'm somehow still happy and hopeful
• Average cost of meds $3500+ • Average cost of meds $5000+
I know I have shared a grand total of one status update on social media, but I don’t believe I echoed it on the blog. Here it is, so we’re all on the same page.
Edited so I can pretend I'm anonymous
What would that mean for our journey? MORE SHOTS, of course. Daily, for the entirety of a successful pregnancy.
Nevertheless, we persisted.
Last time I updated you all, two years ago to the day, I was having a tough time. We had just found out that our next transfer resulted in a chemical pregnancy, or a very early miscarriage, before 5 weeks of gestation.
Quick recap, transfers 1&2 (from first retrieval, transferred at first clinic) failed to implant. Transfer 3&4 (from second retrieval at the second clinic) both implanted, but did not result in a live birth.
At this point, we decided to bring over our remaining embryo from the first clinic, and transfer it at our current. We transferred in February of 2022, and the embryo (the 3rd in the batch) failed to implant. I wondered if something was “wrong” or “off” about these embryos. All 3 from one clinic failed to implant. Both from the other implanted. I refused to believe it was my “fault.”
We scheduled our usual follow up, or as I like to call it, the “what the fuck” appointment. Eventually, we settled on one last retrieval.
I started taking allllll the recommended supplements, switched to phthalate and phosphate-free health and beauty products, and tried to cut alcohol out of my diet. Let me just tell you, having not one, but TWO, crammed full weekly pill cases at 33 years old, plus a few that didn’t fit…I felt a little ridiculous, but was willing to try anything that could help.
Egg retrieval was in September of 2022, and we had 21 eggs! A huge jump from 12 and 14 from the others. Maybe the supplements worked?
Maybe not. We ended up with 4 embryos biopsied for additional testing, and then frozen. We waited. So much hurry up and wait.
Finally we got the results. They weren’t great. Two of the four embryos were “incompatible with life” and one had a *very* low chance at surviving. The blows just kept on coming. We had ONE last chance.
We took it.
As I have PCOS, it was recommended we try a “natural” transfer cycle. We would follow my body’s schedule, instead of manipulating it with hormone injections and patches. Less pokes? Count me in.
Around this time, I decided “I deserve a fucking miracle” was my new mantra.
We transferred our last lil frosty in November. My RE was out of office, so another RE filled in. The only one in the clinic I hadn’t met face-to-face yet. As always, I had made a shirt for the day, it featured the quote “the two most powerful warriors are patience and time” … to which I added a strikethrough on “two” to say three, followed by “and me. I’m a MF warrior too.” The RE asked me what it meant. I let the Medical Assistant explain. *shrug*
All went well. The RE wished me luck. Fast forward to 6 days past transfer. I saw a faint positive on my home test. This was it. My miracle. Finally. A rainbow baby, at the last possible moment. I deserved a fucking miracle.
And then came beta. Three. <5 is considered negative. No miracle for me.
I’m happy to say I’m doing better now. It’s still the due date. It’s still a would-be birthday. Our little shrimp-shaped baby would be two years old, if she could have continued growing. Years of hopes and dreams, lost in an instant, but never forgotten. Years of struggle. Years of strength. Years of support, from all of you. Family, both blood and chosen.
I’ve made new friends, leaned on others, and grown SO freaking much. Thank you for being here. Through the good times and the bad. The day-to-day. The big days. All the days. All the love. Thank you, from us both.
F is for final. F is for family. F is for future. F is for forever.
baby is the size of a raspberry
will always be with me, in my mind, in my heart, and in ink.
