FET #2

And just like that, four years was over in a split second.

When Paul got home from work this morning, I woke up to partake in our morning shot routine.

I had to take the entire day off since I wasn't sure what time our appointment would end up being and I was a little bummed that I couldn't even sleep in on my rare day off.

I managed to squeeze in a little cookie time, a trip to the bank, and a wonderful & much needed catch up session with my college roomie.  

I tried very hard to busy myself with things to do so I wouldn't focus on the really big thing happening this afternoon.

All was going well until I got in my car and this song came on the radio.

The lyrics are perfect for today.  If you know me at all, you're probably very aware that I am not an overly emotional person.  I tend to always prefer logic and practicality over emotions and feelings, but when that song came on, I freakin' bawled like a baby. I'm talking snot and sobs and not being able to catch my breath crying.  I'm pretty sure that song came on the radio because God knew I needed a quick emotional breakdown to help make things real.  So much of our journey has seemed surreal, almost like an out of body experience.  We've gotten so focused on being really present in our life that we often have to actually remind ourselves we are "THAT" childless couple.  When we think about ourselves there are many other adjectives we think of first.  Being 'childless' has become an afterthought.

I'll still blame the crying spell on the extra estrogen running through my body, though!

1:00 pm rolled around and I popped my valium pill right on time.  I also drank A LOT of water since my only instructions were to arrive with a full bladder.

I'm still in awe by what the brain remembers and even though we hadn't been in that building in over four years, we knew exactly where we going…even which floor we needed.  

Partially because I was on a mission and partially because I was on valium, I walked right up to the counter without paying attention to my surroundings.  I had to focus incredibly hard on filling out the paperwork properly thanks to a foggy brain and a shaking hand.

When I turned around to walk back to my seat, I noticed a Race to Parenthood flyer. I may or may not have exclaimed in an overly excited voice "Hey, look! It's us!!"  It was such a wonderful, comforting, perfectly placed reminder of all the family and friends who had been cheering and praying for us.  I swear I felt a giant hug from all of you right there in that darn lobby.  (Though it was probably just the valium).

                                 

The nurse came to get us and checked us in to our room by around 1:40.  I got my I.D. bracelet which made it all official.  The nurse asked if we had done this before and I told her yes, but it was four years ago. I was grateful for her quick rundown of how everything went.   She then did a belly ultrasound which is still a foreign concept to me (I'm use to internal ultrasounds-bleh!). She asked if I needed to use the restroom because my bladder was definitely full and I told her I was okay.  I was terrified if I went then I would mess up the whole procedure since I was instructed to have a full bladder.  She left the room and within ten minutes I HAD to go to the bathroom.  No amount of trying to convince myself I really didn't need to go was working.  No position was comfortable.  Being a good husband, Paul opened the door to find a nurse to get permission for me go.  A different nurse checked me and gave me the green light.  Here's the kicker.  She told me I could empty a cup and a 1/2…almost two cups!  My brain could not process how little urine there must be in your bladder for your brain to register that you actually need to use the commode.  All along I was thinking if it didn't feel like I had enough in my bladder, then I probably didn't have enough.

Our appointment time came and went and by 2:20, the bathroom situation was at a critical level again.

The old me would have played by the rules and either held out or waited for permission from the nurse. 

The new me threw caution to the wind and darted to the bathroom, wrapped in my sheet and trying not to slide since I was only wearing socks.  

Don't tell me I'm not a risk taker ;)  

Finally, around 2:45 the doctor showed up.  I got all situated on that little bed, the nurse started another ultrasound and the poor gal must have felt my pain.  She looked at the doctor and (without asking me first) asked the doctor if I could use the bathroom.  Apparently they see a lot of bladders and apparently mine was overly full….again.  

Mad dash to the restroom #3.  Don't mind if I do.

                                                                              

The IVF lab technician (probably more like an actual embryo scientist or something sophisticated) wheeled our embryos into the room in an incubator and it was such a bizarre feeling that washed over me.  I had completely forgotten the embryos arrived in an incubator.  There are so many things in the room that make you feel like it could and should be just another regular pregnancy story.  The presence of an incubator (of course only if they think your baby may need it), the ultrasound machine, looking sideways at your husband by your side.  And then reality creeps back in and you realize you're not pregnant yet…all of this is just for the simple act of TRYING to get pregnant.

As the sophisticated lab technician came into the room she said "Oh, I remember y'all from the race! I even wore my yellow bandana for y'all!"  It was a sweet moment and we were very appreciative of her extra effort.

The doctor handed us our picture of our embryos and they're average and slightly below average.

Embryos are graded from 1-5.  1 being not so great, 2 being okay, 3: average, 4: excellent, 5: stellar and almost impossible to get. 

Ours were a 3-, 3-, & 2+.  For our last FET our embryos were a 3+, 2+, and a 2.  

Looks like we're pretty much in the same boat as last time.
They implanted all three.

We were also informed that the other two embryos we had thawed did not survive the thawing process. 

Which means, if this doesn't work, we're definitely back to square one.

   

I apologize for the the weird photo below, but I think it's pretty cool.  Not too many people get photos like that!  

   

After the procedure (which went perfectly), I was given instructions to lay down for 30 minutes.  And it happened AGAIN!  5 minutes into my bed rest, I had to pee.  The struggle was real and I held out to 15 minutes before I made Paul open the door for the nurse.  I was comforted by the doc's words when I had asked about bed rest.  "Well you can't shake them out.", was his response.  Thankfully, the nurses took pity on me and let me go.  If you or someone you know ever has an FET, please tell them drinking a full 32 ounces right before your procedure is not a necessity!!!

After my final potty break, I was super relaxed and my mind started to wander all over the place.

 It occurred to me this could very easily be the closest thing I get to being pregnant.  That statement does not negate my hope, my optimism, my desire to be pregnant.  

It is based out of reality and probability. There are so many variables, so many different scenarios for our future and I wanted to capture that one moment where nothing but hope and the possibility of a miracle surrounded us.  Apparently, Paul was not so contemplative since I managed to catch him just before he had a really big yawn.

        

When we arrived home last time, I remember thinking what a HUGE thing we had done.  I was convinced no one else ever had to go through what we had just gone through.  I was worried about what I should/shouldn't be eating, whether or not I should lay down or sit up. I was mindful not to eat anything cold because that was advice from a message board. I was so focused on every.little.ridiculous.detail.

Since we have been home, I've actually had to remind myself what happened earlier this afternoon.
It almost felt like this was a perfectly normal day off.

Half of my heart is guarded, half of my heart is awaiting my moment of pure joy.
The difference this time, is that I KNOW my moment of pure joy will show up in one way or another…in whatever way He has planned for us.

When we got home, it dawned on me that some couples may have photos from the day or night their child was conceived. I'm sure no one but the couple may know the symbolism of that photo, but the couple could always look at that photo together and know the true meaning behind it.
Maybe it was a party, maybe it was a wedding reception, maybe a date night, maybe a chili cook off festival.

In an effort to keep our situation light hearted and fun, we decided we should have one of those photos, too.
Just in case this plays out like we hope.
We survived FET #2.  

   

Cheers to the longest two weeks ever.

                                 

Shots

Remember that time you had a really good blog post written and then hit publish and then the internet ate it and it was lost forever in cyberspace?  

Yeah…me too.

Attempting to recreate what was written earlier.  I'm pretty sure my earlier post was a bit wittier!

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WARNING!

If Life Weren't so IFfy is about the good, the bad, and the ugly of infertility. This post contains the ugly and it might be a little TMI for some of y'all. Read on at your own risk!

While I do apologize for the graphic language, I definitely don't apologize for being able to sneak NKOTB into a blog post.

I can't get this song out of my head every morning now.  It gets me pretty pumped for our new morning shot routine.  Too bad it's the wrong kind of shot!

Eight years ago if someone would have told me they had gone through IVF, I would have said "Oh, I'm sorry", probably thrown in a little pity and I wouldn't have thought twice about it.  Sometimes I think people's cluelessness about what infertility entails is because people actually going through it won't open up about….well...what all infertility entails. 

Here's a look at one component of what happens in the lives of many people using reproductive technology.

Back in March when Paul and I met with our new reproductive endocrinologist, we briefly discussed our next frozen embryo transfer and our possible timeline.  At the time, the nurse mentioned I would need to have shots.  Because all of our fertility treatments were so long ago, I've now realized how the details of each separate treatment have blurred together.  When the nurse mentioned shots, my brain really didn't process the information because I was still in the "How did we get back here?" haze.  

Before we left for Europe, I visited our RE and had a lengthy conversation with his IVF nurse.  She explained I would need to take estroidal (estrogen) pills as soon as my period arrived. So, I filled the prescription before we left and carried that little pill bottle with me all over Europe as my most prized possession.  We were in Poland when I had to start taking them.  With all the general anxiety you feel while traveling, I figured adding three pills a day was no biggie. 

As soon as we returned from Europe, I had another doctor's appointment to make sure everything was still on schedule and looking good.  Things were looking so good, in fact, the doctor said "You have a beautiful uterus".  "It sure is gorgeous", his IVF nurse replied.  A little flabbergasted I muttered a creative "Well that's not a compliment you hear everyday!"

It's the little silver linings, y'all!

(Or in my case, a healthy, growing lining. Sorry-infertility humor!)

After the ultrasound, I visited again with the IVF nurse and she wrote my prescription for valium (thank God! -for the FET-)  She then started talking about my progesterone prescription.  Thinking back to my previous IVF/FET experiences, I remembered my progesterone suppositories and although they were yucky, they were painless and easy. Just as my brain was processing 'progesterone' & 'suppository', she said "You'll also get needles for the progesterone injections".  Well….shoot. 

I've taught myself to always look on the positive side, so I immediately said "Oh, it's no big deal. I gave myself my fertility shots last time. Shots don't bother me."

She gave me a quizzical look and then her little light bulb went off as she put my puzzle pieces together.  She responded…"Oh honey, these are intramuscular shots that go in your butt. I don't think you'll be giving these to yourself."  Umm….crap.

She then proceeded to tell me that I may notice "a pain shooting down my leg…spotty redness or bruising…and lumpiness from where the medicine settles in the muscle".  "Just peachy", I thought.

I highly doubted many of her aforementioned side effects would happen to me.

Back when we did our other treatments and I needed shots, Paul tried in the beginning.  Those were only subcutaneous shots and he hated giving them, so I switched to having nurses at work give them to me.  It was always hard to coordinate timing with the nurses, so eventually I wound up giving myself the three shots a day.  I found it to be so much easier.  And then the night before my egg retrieval arrived and Paul had to give me the 'trigger' shot intramuscularly in my rump.  The conversation that evening went something like this:

Paul:  Oh man, I can't believe I have to do this. (Sighs loudly)

Me: I can't believe I have to let you do this!

Paul: Where do I stick the needle again?

Me: Where I just had the ice cube! Where the red spot is! (Putting an ice cube on your rear gives your husband a spot to aim for and numbs the spot.)

Paul:  Okay, here I go….wait…is it okay if your skin is cold?

Me: YES!

Paul: Okay…3….2….

Me: STOP COUNTING!!!

Paul:  Okay…wait…do I pinch the skin first?  Oh man….

Me:  STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT! YOU'RE MAKING ME NERVOUS!

Needless to say, I was not looking forward to telling Paul that he was the grand prize winner of being able to stick his wife in the hiney with an intramuscular needle (longer than subcutaneous needles) everyday for a minimum of two weeks.

So, this past Tuesday (otherwise known as Shot Day 1) rolls around.  Much to my surprise, my husband was calm, cool and collected.  I readied the syringe and 1ml progesterone and he bravely gave me the shot…only asking once for the general location to stick me.  Luckily, the doctor's office provided us with a diagram for how to find the upper, outer quadrant of your rump…you know…in case the words upper, outer and quadrant threw us for a loop.  Easy, peasy.

Until about half way through the day, when a pain shot down my leg and my rump felt like someone had kicked me.  And sure enough, the redness, bruising and lumpiness all arrived shortly thereafter.  

It occurred to me that many of us must take our rumps for granted.  We probably never think twice about them (unless it quits fitting into a beloved pair of pants.) And I realized I missed my former non-pincussioned rear end because, boy, is it painful to sit down now.

Day 2 went off without a hitch.  We had switched to a new, fresh cheek so I knew it would all be okay.

And then day 3 rolls around. I was already a little apprehensive because we were back to the same sore cheek from Day 1 and we went up to 2 ml progesterone which means longer stickage time.  Paul sticks me, I do my 'fish flop' that I cannot control when the needle hits that muscle, and I thought we were good to go.  And then I hear him say "Wait…Oh no…the needle is coming apart from the syringe! The progesterone is going everywhere!"

Not what a girl wants to hear when there's a long needle sticking out of her.

He removes the needle and I quickly calculate how many syringes I was given (to determine if I had a spare or needed to fix that one).  I also try to figure out how much of the drug actually ended up in me versus on me or on his hands.  After tightening the needle back on the syringe and drawing a little more progesterone, we were back in business.  I got to do another fish flop and all was well.

I've learned to quiet all the questions that run through your head…but they still creep in ever so slightly.

Did all the medicine go in?

Was the needle in the right spot and in far enough?

The seasoned me knows that those questions are ultimately irrelevant and what will be, will be. 

I didn't necessarily realize just how much I had changed until I spoke with the IVF nurse today.  

She called to tell me that our appointment is at 2:00 pm tomorrow…to pop my valium about an hour before, arrive with a full bladder and she would call if she heard about how my embryos were doing.

And it hit me.  I hadn't even given any thought to the quality of the embryos. I had forgotten they were all graded.  Last time we did an FET, it was do or die emotionally.  It was the end for us.  There was nothing beyond that FET and it HAD to work.

This time around, I feel as though we're only at the beginning of something wonderful.  

No matter what the outcome is.  

Thoughts & Feelings

Many of my thoughts and feelings have changed over the past seven years.

 

 

I like to think I've matured; learning to see the bigger picture and appreciating all the small details along the way. 

 

In the beginning, our infertility was all about us...about me. 

 

Why couldn't we be like everyone else who just drank water and got pregnant?

Why was this happening to us?

The me & us questions were endless.

 

All of our thoughts and feelings were self-centered.  Looking back, I'm convinced the initial "woe is me" attitude that surfaces in the beginning of an infertility journey is nothing more than a basic coping mechanism.  It's survival mode.  When you think you're the only one experiencing one of life's major sucker punches it gives you the drive to DO something about it.  At least it did for us.  We were so focused on trying to dig our way out of that major hole of suck, life around us passed by in (what felt like) a big, unimportant blur.

 

 

For the first three years, I would see a pregnant woman and want to drop kick her in the head (too harsh? Not when you have a barren womb) or at the very least, stab her with my high heel.  My inability to have the ONE thing that is a natural progression of life was compounded by the slap in the face of every pregnant woman who crossed my path.  There was no escaping.  A trip to any store wasn't safe, church wasn't safe, work wasn't safe.  Baby showers were an all day emotional nightmare.  If I actually attended your baby shower within those first 3-4 years, please know you are loved. If I actually helped throw your baby shower, please know you are super, duper loved. 

 

When we quit actively doing fertility treatments cold turkey four years ago, things started to change.  Initially, it was a wonderful emotional, physical and financial reprieve from month after month of treatments.  For three years our life was consumed by doctor appointments, procedures, lab work, more procedures and disappointment. 

 

For me, my thoughts and feelings towards this journey really shifted right at the end of our one year 'sabbatical'. 

 

We found ourselves actually having fun again.  Gone was the sharp, piercing pain of infertility.  Sure, some of those feelings never go away, but infertility has become more like a dull, backache.  You know it's there, but you also know you'll live with it every day.  Every now and then it may flair up, but for the most part it goes unnoticed. 

 

I now see a pregnant woman and wonder about her story.  I say a quick prayer for an easy pregnancy and a smooth birth story for her and then with all my head and heart, I pray she realizes what a blessing and a miracle she has been given. The empathy and happiness I feel when I see a pregnant woman now is a place I never thought I'd get to four years ago.  I'm back to loving baby showers now.  The planning, the throwing, all of it. For that I am grateful for this journey.

 

We're also much more aware of how our journey affects those around us.  We're aware of how difficult it can be for our closest friends and family to tell us they're expecting.  While we still may not want to hear you complain about your child, we know they are your life and we don't mind you sharing your stories about them with us.  Every child is a gift and life is too preciously short.

 

 

But some thoughts and feelings haven't changed. 

 

Today, our embryos are being thawed and I find myself instantly transported back to four years ago.

 

It's so mind boggling to think in a lab room right now, our little embryos are being thawed from their four year deep freeze. 

I find myself in the exact same mental thought process I had back then.  Most women and men don't actually have to pray for their embryo cells to divide and divide some more.

 

I know it sounds totally silly and completely ridiculous, but I have this mental image of me donning a cheerleader uniform (okay, maybe just a t-shirt that says "I want to be your mommy"), standing next to that little petri dish, clapping and cheering and encouraging those little balls of cells to keep dividing and growing.  (You know, because they can actually hear me.)

 

So, if you wouldn't mind and if you have the time, please say a quick prayer for the lab technicians who handle those little embryos and then, if you want, put on your cheerleading uniform and do a little cheer for continued cell division!

 

HIP-HIP-HOORAY,

We want those cells to divide today!!

 

Yeah, infertility makes you go a little crazy. 

 



Time

Let's talk about time for a minute.

 

Time is a funny thing.  There's either too much or not enough. It passes too quickly or drags on forever.  You make up for lost time or look forward to the next time. 

 

You use the word time to describe a duration, season, age, or occasion.  It's also used to describe a rhythm, turn, a frequency.  We use the word time in so many different ways, it's no wonder the English language is so difficult to learn.

 

With infertility, you either try time and time again or you take a time out. 

 

My husband and I just took one big time out.  Our initial one year sabbatical from the infertility roller coaster turned into four years.  Four years doesn't seem like a long time until I realize I could have gone through high school again in those four years. (That thought just sent a shudder down my spine!)

 

My husband and I are just about to close our 7th year of battling infertility and will officially ring in our 8th in January.  I look back on those seven years and I feel like they disappeared in the blink of an eye. But when I think about seven years in the context of going from 6th grade to high school graduation, then seven years seems like a really, really long time.

 

I consider myself to be "seasoned" in this infertility community now.  Gone are the early months (okay-the first three years) of naivety & bitterness.  I started this blog almost five years ago. F.I.V.E

 

A person changes a lot in five years. 

 

We're officially in the process of "Operation bring a child into the Ziolkowski home", so I wanted to start blogging again.   I debated starting a whole new blog, but since you can't often truly understand a person or a situation until you understand their past, I thought it would be more beneficial to reopen this old blog o' mine.

 

If you should take the time to read through those old entries, get yourself some popcorn and change into some comfy clothes first. 

 

Please remember, my thoughts and feelings have grown and matured over the past several years.  Take for example this blog's title and description.  I made that blog title banner on a computer we had five years ago.  I'd love to take the word 'crap' out of the description (as I now realize how beautiful life really is), but in an effort to stay true to my roots (and the fact that I can't change it), I'll keep it.  What you'll read from back then is pure and raw and was only ever intended to be an electronic diary for myself or for people in the infertility community to read. Only a handful of people from back then knew I even kept a blog. If you should read anything that hurts or (even worse) offends you, I am sorry.  My goal in sharing those old entries is to help open people's eyes to the conflicting thoughts and emotions, hard decisions and pain associated with infertility that are often kept behind closed doors.  

 

As is the case with every fertility treatment, my husband and I are full of guarded hope and cautious optimism.  The one thing that has changed in the past seven years is our faith that we will one day be parents.  Period. End of thought.  The means by which we become parents no longer defines us. 

 

So here we go.

It's time. 

 



Early Summer Check In

I've said it many times before...people with children think time flies, but people who have experienced infertility are more acutely aware of how fast time really does slip by. 

For once though, I'm excited for the next couple of months to happen.

As I said back in January, we know exactly where we're supposed to be.  

We have a few more trips planned for the end of the year, but I'm super excited to think about what next year will bring!

2013

Holy Cow. 

I posted once in the entire year of 2012 and it was by accident!  ONE TIME!!!

Most of you are probably long gone by this time, but I'll write anyway.

My husband and I were going to 'get back into the swing of things' in 2012. 

But you know what?  

We were just having too much fun to delve back into the whole TTC world.  

Aside from the first year of our marriage when we weren't actively trying to conceive, the next 3 years were a big, dark blob.

One I don't ever care to revisit.  

We rang in our 5th year of marriage on Disney's private island in the Bahamas.  We went to Finland, Russia, Sweden, Estonia and Iceland last summer.  We got dog number 4.  We found a new church. We learned we'd be gaining a niece (my sister is expecting!) 

We are in a really, really good place.

I never, ever thought we could be not just content, but actually HAPPY living child free.  

It's absolutely amazing.

There are little signs all around and I know exactly which direction our life together is meant to go.

I have no doubt in my mind that we will be parents one day.  

We have our time line figured out.  One that is very personal to us at this time.

If you should happen to read this, just know that we are here, grounded in our faith and loving life.

And if you're wondering where I've been or what I've been up to...check out Kooking in Kate's Kitchen.  

'Til next time!

Arkansas Razorbacks

Living in Virginia I never thought in a million years I'd be asked to make Arkansas Razorback cookies.

But I was.

So I did.

Red icing next to white icing gives me a slight panic attack so I cheated a little.

I made the razorbacks as a royal icing transfer and then just plopped them onto the white flood icing after they were nice and dry and decorated. 

It worked perfectly and I didn't have to worry about waking up to pink cookies in the morning.

The customer loved them and I sure hope her son's team did too!