Friday, September 18, 2015

4 weeks, 2 days.

One of the weirdest experiences of having an IUI (besides the awkward go-in-a-cup and that long catheter contraption... and we made a lot of horrible jokes about the process, which kind of helped) was the fact that the procedure added yet another layer of fear for us. For the last two weeks, worry and fear that it didn't work plagued us. I kept hopeful and optimistic, reminding myself that getting pregnant is not an issue - so it had to work - just staying pregnant was the issue. Nonetheless, that waiting, unsure, for two weeks was agony.

Then Wednesday, test day, came. When the alarm went off that morning, my eyes popped open and my heart immediately started thumping. Like, pounding nearly audibly. My normally groggy self rolled out of bed, to the bathroom, and I grabbed the test. And waited.  More waiting.

Then it appeared.

It worked.



One less fear down, one worry conquered.

Now for the hardest part. Staying this way.

I am still on my cocktail of pills, with progesterone suppositories (a disaster, they are - we refer to them as the little pink devil balls... lol) and of course, the prednisone (which makes me a lunatic - certifiably crazy) and the thyroid medication. I went Thursday for blood work and my HCG levels were 213, and the nurse said they wanted at least 60. So that's good news!

They also called in my lovenox prescription, which was an ordeal in itself. Walgreens doesn't carry it in town, so they sent me to CVS (which as a side note,  for some reason, someone has decorated for Halloween like it's a slaughterhouse - you walk by a wall of nail polish or tampons, and BAM, a knife-wielding clown is lurking! Seriously, I think the manager or someone there is toooooo into Halloween!). As if the decor hadn't scared me enough, the price of the medication was even more frightening. It said on the prescription "qty=9" and "price=$838.39" and I almost fainted. 9 shots for that much? Like 100 bucks a shot for a shot I take once a day for the duration of this pregnancy?
I was freaking out. As it turns out, 9 was total in the ml of medication, and after insurance, it ended up being 100 buck for a thirty day supply. That's $900 over the course of 9 months, rather than $27,000 over the course of 9 months... whew.

So there you a have it.

The fear now is less worry and more dread. It's ever-present in my mind, and I throw scriptures at it constantly.

I have been pregnant six times now. Six times I have had my heart ripped out of my chest by the apologize of some ultrasound technician or an ER doctor. To fall in love only to have your hopes dashed, your heart broken, your worse fears realized.

I read this post just the other day. I struggle to claim infertility. Even though I belong to a few groups, am a patient at an infertility clinic, and have yet to birth a child, the fact that I can get pregnant keeps me from wanting to call it what it is. And yet, in reality, everything in that post describes me. The pain at announcements (because I know their announcements aren't just hopeful... it will happen for them in a few months) and seeing a newborn and the countless dollars and the inability to contribute to pregnancy-birth-babies conversations and just standing there awkwardly. It all describes me.  I am so appreciative of the author for sharing those words. They are so true.

But, recurrent pregnancy loss (RPL) adds yet another dimension to infertility, something the author didn't describe.  The fear. Especially to love.

When an infertile couple finally gets pregnant, there is rejoicing. It finally worked. They have defeated the foe. I've seen girls "graduate" from infertility groups, or "graduate" from the infertility clinic, and take that positive pregnancy test as a victory. When you add in RPL, you can never be sure you defeated it. You never get to graduate, not until there is a child laying safely in your arms.

When someone with RPL gets pregnant, it's like you can't breathe. You are so simultaneously happy (because maybe, just maybe, this is the one that will stick...) and also full of dread and sadness. You know when you are at the doctor's and about the get a shot? And you have those seconds of anticipation right before the stick, not sure of how hard or painful it's going to be? Or like the moments when you slam on brakes and you're confidant that you won't get stopped in time, and you tense up in anticipation of an impending car crash? Or when you're heaving over a toilet, and the moment the vomit is about to come, but hasn't yet, and you break out in a cold sweat?

That's what RPL adds to infertility.

It makes you scared to love. I want to love this baby. Name him or her. Take bump pictures. Make a cutesy announcement. Dream of him or her, imagining that face, the personality. But I must stop here. I am not allowed to go down that road. Why allow yourself to fall head over heals for a little life who, experience teaches you, will never exist, at least statistically speaking? It's tragic.

That's what RPL adds to infertility.

So, pray for me. Pray for my head and my heart to cope and my body to work.
Pray for my baby.

I sit with bated breath. 

1 comment:

Kitty Breedlove said...

Praying for you Brianna