Jun 6

Jun 6 Update: Our Last IVF and how we are doing now TRIGGER

Wow. I hate how long it’s been since I’ve written an update post. I first started this as a draft during National Infertility Awareness Week back in April and am finally finishing it up. A lot has happened since our last transfer in December. Our sweet July embryo stuck around and we were blessed with our very first pregnancy after seven years of uphill battle. So many emotions and fears accompanied this blessing, but I am now more confident and less scared of having to part with this little miracle and am ready to talk about it here. For months, I just simply couldn’t find words. ME, not able to put two words together. A foreign disability and I still have some trouble with it. Disclaimer: Please excuse any typos or rambling in this post or any future posts. I have no editor. Just me and my half-functioning brain.

As many know we were in Colorado frequently over 2020, lastly during the holiday season, and transferred our 5 day BB embryo about a week before Christmas. See that post here. Since then, our story changed. Changed in a way that is earth shattering. In a way that at times I never thought possible. As we waited out the hours until test day, I remained positive and tried to assume the best rather the worst which was the familiar. And as Christmas approached, I started to feel all the feels I had felt before and tried not to overthink or become overly confident. But I couldn’t help it. Something had to give this time. This little embryo had been through so much more than all the others. We had completely given ourselves over to this process yet again and my faith had become the rock on which I stood. I kept feeling the nudge to test at home a few days before our scheduled blood test at the lab. I’ve only ever “cheated” one time before, which didn’t have a happy ending. And this time, test day fell on Christmas Day, but the labs were of course closed. Derick and I talked about whether to test at home. Possible Outcome #1: We find out we were gifted with new life and celebrate with our parents Christmas Day that we are finally pregnant and the wait is over. Possible Outcome #2: We feel the crush once again, this time after a year spent doing “something different” only to feel the drag of a dull knife through our hearts…and forever remember that Christmas with tears in our eyes. And for the first time ever, we got to experience what was behind door number one.

First trimester sickness

The first few weeks felt just like a stimulation cycle. Tired, sore, headaches, nausea, etc. But then, I was so sick. I dry heaved until I popped blood vessels in my face which are still visible, pulled muscles in my back where I couldn’t drive safely, and struggled to sit through a full day of work or make it through a Zoom class during the first half of the Spring semester. I could only get a few carbs down a day and that was it. I think I ate mac and cheese or bagels for three months straight. I was so thankful to be so sick, however I finally had to give myself some grace to say “this SUCKS!!!!” I felt so guilty for so long for feeling that way after how long we had dreamed of this season in our life. But I had so much support and other mama friends that let me know it was okay to curse all the gagging and heaving. This went on for months through the first part of the second trimester. Then, it finally started to fade with the caveat that acid reflux was about to take over. Which it did. But I finally got some medicine which helps manage (not eliminate) it and I just stay away from all the acid inducing foods and moves. Oh salsa, one day we’ll be together again. There’s also no downward dogs in my yoga these days, or tying shoes for that matter. Otherwise it’s game over. But all the reflux and gagging are temporary; a small price for the gift of life. You let yourself be “normal” and complain because it somehow helps, then thank God every night as you hold your belly with joy in your heart.

Overwhelm and fear

Absolute joy in it’s purest form, the likes of which I had not felt in so long, was also accompanied by debilitating fear. I could not stand the thought of making it this far and ever having to part. I already loved that little gummy bear more than life itself. For an IVF parent, this is pretty standard. You are accustomed to loss, and almost expect it. Your mind almost tries to shelter you from the pain of trauma that it starts to prepare you with “what if.” I don’t think I exhaled until that first ultrasound. And then, we saw a baby on the screen where for years was a very empty womb. I was overcome with relief and lost it right then and there. I had to apologize for the sudden flood and explained this was an IVF baby, which the sonographer quickly responded with encouraging and congratulatory comfort. Derick was luckily able to be in the room for this moment, and we held hands and stared lovingly at that screen for what felt like eternity. But even after that first ultrasound, it wasn’t until well into the second trimester when I started to feel some peace that I wasn’t going to have to say goodbye. Thank you, God. This is the biggest blessing of my life.

Missing my mom

I knew if the day ever came that we were lucky enough to have a little embaby stick it was also going to be the day that I would never get to call my mom, or tell her in person and see her reaction, or hug and cry and celebrate the moment together. I knew that going through this journey without my mom would be hard. But I didn’t know it would be this hard. In all honesty, it’s been harder than I expected. Not a day goes by where I don’t wish I could call and ask if she felt this or that way with me or my brother, or what she did for this ache or pain, or talk about names, or the room, or baby blankets. I will never receive a beautiful knitted blanket, or booties, or hats, that so many of my friends and family have received from my mother. I can’t explain how deep that void goes. I’ll never know what she wants her grandmother name to be. She will not be sitting there at our upcoming shower or hold her first grandchild for the first time at the hospital. She’ll never come to a dance recital with a rose for every year. Growing up I simply never imagined having to experience such joy with such pain. But, I am still in therapy. Working hard to cope with grief and focus on the happiness that will soon fill my life in ways I’ve only dreamed about. I know she watching over and I still talk to her everyday. This will always be hard. But I will work hard to make sure her grandchild knows and loves her, just like she did for me with her mother, my MomMom.

How we are doing now

Easing out of the second trimester now and going into the third very soon, we are happier than we’ve ever been. It feels as if we are breathing fresh air after being hunkered down in a battle zone for years. The semester is finally over and work has been a struggle. I’ve discovered I don’t have the workhorse stamina that I’ve always had. I’ve had to accept that pregnant at 40 likely looks a little different than so many friends and loved ones that have shared their pregnancy stories and advice. But, it’s so worth it. I would do it one hundred times over. I’ve learned to bob and weave the best I can and have allowed myself so much that I wouldn’t normally allow, all for this little miracle growing and kicking inside. I recently heard in an IVF documentary that it can be hard to call this baby a miracle. This did not happen miraculously. We fought with every ounce of our being. She is a casualty of war; a survivor. We are spending these early days of summer preparing her room and looking forward to summer showers, our first in a few days! And yes, I said she. I will share our small but special gender reveal with our friends in a post coming soon!

Finally back in person at church we recently sang a hymn that made me think so much about this journey.

”Hymn of Promise”

In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree;

in cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!

in the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,

unrevealed until it’s season, something God alone can see.

Theres a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;

there’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.

From the past will come the future; what it holds a mystery,

unrevealed until it’s season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity;

in our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity.