Green Eggs and Sperm

On numerous occasions I have stared at my keyboard debating if and how to post about this particular portion of my life. At first, it was simply put- too personal. Although it began as a seemingly minute, almost inconsequential bit of life that happened to me, to us. Conversely, over the past two years it has grown into a mammoth-sized dictator that has truly consumed my every thought and action. As increasing amounts of tears stream down my face with every strike of the keyboard and mouse click, I am eager to share our journey through the antagonist in this story, known as infertility.

Just over two years ago, in late August 2009, I sat there, pants around my ankles impulsively staring at an at home pregnancy test. Seriously, $15 bucks for a pee stick? Ludicrous! I closed my eyes and waited, peeking just about every 10 seconds. There was no physical identifiers that told me I was pregnant, only the fact that I had missed my period. And my cycle, at least up until that point, was textbook regular, with a capital R! Every fourth Tuesday at noon, I could always count on that part of my menstrual cycle to welcome me to a week full of bloating and bleeding. This Tuesday was different. No bloating or bleeding, just two parallel lines indicating that I was ‘with child’. Let the tears commence.

I had always imagined myself revealing this life-changing piece of information to family and friends in a much more imaginative way, but I was acting a tad peculiar post pee-stick and James was on to me. I’m a terrible liar. I just remember sitting there, staring at each other, in a sort of daze. Of course, we were excited, but it was all very surreal as well. For a moment I almost felt unworthy to be pregnant. Shouldn’t I be beaming? The truth was, it was a bit sudden- it really only took one try. Clearly, we wouldn’t be here, if it truly only took one try, now would we? We debated about telling, not telling, when, etc, and decided to wait a few weeks, at least until I had seen an doctor. We were definitely green in the world of reproduction at this point, and we had a happy little secret between us.

In the back of my classroom, in the lab area I have a long black table. It houses lab equipment, paper towels, and on this particular Friday, about a week or two after p- day, it housed me. I felt terrible- and it wasn’t the normal “What? You don’t know what a graduated cylinder is terrible?” It was a very different terrible; a terrible that I would become quite acquainted with- more than once. My entire abdominal area was aching; I couldn’t wait for the day to end. With my pants unbutton, I sat on the lab table as much as I could, and moved as little as possibly necessary. Once I got home, I realized I was spotting, but I knew woman who spotted and still had normal pregnancies. Then again, I also knew spotting could lead to not so normal pregnancies. I told James about my day, and he being even greener about these things that I, had no perception of what this could mean; what I wouldn’t give for that worry-free expression. In his mind, women bleed every month, right?

I, on the other hand, have not stopped worrying since, and will indubitably worry until all of my children about are safe and dead. If that makes any sense… Anyway, we ended up going to my parents, and told my mom our now unhappy little secret. With tears streaming down her face now, she confirmed what I had supposed- a miscarriage. The following day (Saturday), I was in more pain than before and now worried about the prospect of an ectopic pregnancy, we decided the emergency room would be a great place to spend a Saturday. I didn’t really have an OB to call, so we first tried urgent care, hoping they would have an ultra sound machine. $100 later, we found out, they do not. The moment the nurse/receptionist asked for my information the tears came. They didn’t stop the entire weekend. Looking back now, I may have been a bit hysterical. I calmed down in the car, but the tears were eagerly awaiting my arrival at the emergency room. To add insult to injury, the receptionist was a girl I went to high school with. Imagine how fun it was to tell her I was having a miscarriage. Although, I believe she was divorced, so we’ve all got our issues-not that I feel that’s any compensation or defensible, but again, remember I was not thinking clearly. I knew there would be poking, prodding and needles in my future.

With every additional nurse, doctor, and phlebotomist, the tears were right on target. I peed in various cups, had vials of blood drawn and for the first time, had a vaginal ultra sound. Wow! If you’ve never experienced one of these, it’s akin to a light saber, but in your vagina. I like to make the “vvvrehmm”, light saber noise whenever they whip it out now. We have become very dear friends since our first meeting that day. Fortunately, we found out that I was not having an ectopic pregnancy, and there was a yolk sac. We didn’t, however, know if the sac was growing.

That next Monday, (the first time I have ever called in sick) I started making some calls. I needed to find a good OB, and fast. I scoured my resources (the internet, mom, etc), and found a doctor close by who graduated for the University of Utah med school. Honest to blog, that is how I picked him. Go Utes! Alas, he was booked for the next 3 months (probably because he’s a great doctor, because of the U), but I was able to get in to see another doctor within the same building the very next day. Good news!

I think, after that Saturday, I had used up my entire reservoir of tears for a while because it was probably a solid month before I cried again. After another round of light sabers, he was able to assure me that I was still healthy; a miscarriage wasn’t my fault, but that yes, I was having a miscarriage, or a spontaneous abortion. We decided not to do a D&C, and just let it pass naturally. I was totally in favor of the option that didn’t involve more hospitals, needles and the like. The alternative, however, turned out to be 6 more weeks of bleeding, cramping and wearing pads that felt like diapers. The miscarriage groundhog had seen his arrogant shadow.

Other than immediate family no one knew. Looking back, I’m not sure why we didn’t share it, albeit very personal. My mother in law was so excited to hear that we were expecting, only saddened to hear what followed that statement. Once my doctor cleared me, he gave me some very promising expectations. With a hug and a handshake he sent me off to try, try and try some more. His parting words, were “We’ll see you right back here in a few months, pregnant!” I felt very at peace.

It took a month or so, before my cycle seemed cyclical again, and with my hormones in such disarray I started to develop another onset of acne. Seriously, not again. I struggled with facial acne as a teenager, and my parents exhausted a lot of resources (money, etc) to clear my skin. Really hormones? So not fair! And, if you’ve seen me at all in the past two years, you’ll know where acne and I currently stand. We are not on speaking terms- at all. I sometimes want to wear a disclaimer that explains my face, or a paper bag. Anyway, acne is not the main bad guy here, but it definitely plays a supporting role. For the next couple of months, per doctor’s orders, we tried, and tried and tried…. By the way, I hate that expression- trying.“How long have you been trying?” It ranks right up there with “cool beans” and “that’s so gay”.

By the time May rolled around, I realized I had developed some less desirable personality traits. At the arrival of each period, I found myself not only disappointed, but a bit annoyed and snippy. I was much more sensitive to any comments coming in my direction, and less helpful to others. It took me a while to even pinpoint the source. James also recognized these slight yet, increasingly overbearing nuisances. Evidently, trying was not enough for us. I purchased a basal body thermometer and with my handy dandy argyle notebook I simultaneously became the scientist and the lab rat. At 5:30, every morning, I took and recorded my basal body temperature. At the end of every cycle, I made a chart and graphed the data. During each cycle, I documented the position of my cervix, new acne, tracked any abdominal pains, and inspected my cervical mucus and every other pathogen that was excreted from my body. I was using terms like flow, thickness and egg-like. Oh yeah, and we had a lot of sex. A friend of my mom’s suggested a couple of herbs that worked for her- chaste tree and wild yam. Add that to the regimen.

I was reaching a breaking point. Luckily, the Lord knows best. He puts people in our lives to help us. At mutual (currently serving in the young women’s program) one evening that summer, I was chatting with another leader, and I shared with her some information about my miscarriage. She was so empathetic and we sat there for another hour and cried. My silly little battle with infertility is nothing compared to her. After four years of, here’s that word again, of trying and still no real answers, they have two adorable twin girls. Thankfully, in vitro worked for them, but only after multiple attempts. I like to call her my life partner, or my fertility czar. She continues to be such an advocate for me, and others. She encouraged me to get back in to see a doctor and stop treating myself like a specimen.

Almost a year since my miscarriage, I lay on the same table, awaiting the light saber. Hello, old friend! I did not show up to the appointment empty handed. I brought my graphs- they were color coded. This time, we found something- larger than before. A cyst had formed in my right ovary. No word on how long it had taken up residency, or how long it was planning on sticking around. Much to my dismay, it had signed a six-month lease. Almost weekly, I went back to check up on it, and each week it began increasing in size, and soon there were two- a roommate! Then, back to one. During this time I also tried at home ovulation predictors, around $40 a pop. Bring it on- more data to document, chart and graph. By December 2010, we (doc, James, me, my fertility czar, etc) were fed up with this pesky irritant and decided to have it surgically removed; partly for health reasons, but also in hopes that this would be the solution to our fertility concerns.

The surgery was scheduled for January 2011, and went very well. While they were in the area, the also did a HSG (hysteropingogram), where they inject a dye into your tubes to see if there are any adhesions or obstructions. It sometimes acts like a pseudo Drano and can clear possible blockages. You have my permission to do whatever you need - barring I am none the wiser. I have heard the HSG is not all sunshine and unicorns sans anesthesia. I took a few days to recover (Second time I have ever used a sick day) and was back to trying again. Now, with a renewed sense of hope, but still tears and worry- some things never change.

By this time, almost a year and half into this, a little bitterness and resentment started to settle in. I was still able to be happy for those people in my life that were able to be pregnant, and have a growing family, but it was not always easy. We definitely felt a void in our lives, and knew we wanted to continue to try everything we could (in and out of the bedroom). I am very sensitive to those who seem to constantly complain about their children and/or being pregnant. Sometimes people would comment on how lucky I was that I didn’t have a little ankle-biter weighing me down, that I can work outside the home, can go wherever I want, whenever I want, take a nap on a Sunday afternoon. Some even targeted body parts- commenting on how fortunate I was to have perky breast and flat stomach. There is no denying that I was blessed with a great set of breasts, but I would gladly give them up for a pair of sore droopy boobs if it meant we could have one of heavenly fathers angels in our home.

Somewhere in there, I sort of decided I would stick it to all these adorable pregnant woman and let them be jealous. If they wanted to envy me, I would deliver and give them something to envy. I would have the flattest stomach, the perkiest rack and travel to exotic places on a whim. Unfortunately, I am a planner and actually enjoy staying home, but we have been on a few vacations; my favorite was our Caribbean cruise. I had also spent the last year and half planning my actions and activities around the looming “what if I’m pregnant by then”, and was frankly, tired of that game. I wasn’t going to play it any longer. Call me a party pooper, but so what if I was pregnant. Then, I would be pregnant in the Caribbean. Sounds like a win-win to me!

One event that I committed to in January was the Ragnar relay race. For those of you who know anything about me, I am not a runner- in fact I’m the anti-runner. I don’t hate it; I’m just terrible at it. But I so desperately wanted to do something for me, something I had never done! I was committed. The race was April 15-16th, in California. I was running with 5 other fantastic girls from my neighborhood, albeit intimidating, I was so in! So, in the midst of more trying I ran.

6 days before the race I started bleeding. My cycles weren’t super regular, but this was extremely early for me. So, I took a pregnancy test. What do you know- it was positive. Although the spotting only lasted a day. Oh goody- I’m about to go run a 3 day relay and I’m pregnant. The nerve. The timing. The tears. The worry. I confided in one of my running buddies to see what she thought. She was willing to run my legs for me. Another great friend the Lord just puts in my way. My docter ok’ed me to run because I had been training for it, although that “what if?” always seems to rear its ugly head. They tested my HCG levels, and over a 48-hour period they should double. On the way to California I got the call- my HCG levels were almost depleted by the second test. Just as I figured. I made another appointment with the light saber, following the race, and was resolved to run. It was the day of the race and I was spotting, but not enough to stop me from running. Over the next 36 hours we traveled/ran a total of 200 miles. What a sense of accomplishment, and I managed to do it with no pain, bleeding or worrying. What a blessing.

The following day however, as I was in the shower, and the bloodgates (not floodgates) opened. I knew I was having another miscarriage. Again, I didn’t really want to share it with my team- mostly because we were on such a ‘runners high’ that I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer. Unfortunately, these girls are no dummies. They were on to me, and I just lost it- commence tears. Although I was not in the comfort of my family’s arms, home or even state, I had 5 other women who knew just how to comfort me. There was no need to take a trip to the ER, this seemed old hat by now.

Since my second miscarriage and many inconclusive ovulation predictors I was nearing the end of my rope. I went back in to see my doctor and was ready to be much more aggressive. I wanted to TRY everything and was will to try anything. Before I could even get any words out, the tears spoke for me. My doctor referred me to a few fertility clinics in the area. I also asked to have my progesterone levels tested. After more light sabers and blood work, it turns out my progesterone levels are very low, but all my other hormones are right where they should be. Answers- this is awesome! My thyroid is also a little out of wack, but easily manageable. Synthroid (thyroid med) is rather annoying to take, but worth it. Prometrium (progesterone pill) seems to make me a bit sullen in the morning, but does not induce the crazy, like some reviews I read. I have also seemed to have more luck with the ovulation-predictors. If this simple regime is all it takes, sign me up!

What a difference it made to go speak with a fertility specialist. Right from the get to, she was able to provide explanations and possible reasons for our miscarriages. My short cycles and multiple early miscarriages are possible signs of low progesterone levels. Clearly though, sperm likes egg! They have fertility down to a science, as cliché as that may sound. I am so grateful to be working with both doctors in our fight for a little one to call our own. This past summer has spelled hope for us and our journey through infertility. So, I guess that cat is out of the bag- we are trying for a little one.

I don’t think I can adequately express the amount of concern and compassion I have for anyone facing this trial. My deepest empathies to you as you fight for answers. I have come to realize our brawl with this beast may never be easy, or over. And for some crazy reason, we continue to try. Are we mad? Perhaps! But is it worth it? From those who have, they all say a resounding yes. And James never seems to tire of the trying we have to do- for the baby of course.