Borrowing tomorrow’s sorrow

I am trying not to borrow crisis from the future. This is what I mean:

  • They are not going to be able to test the embryo. The results will be inconclusive.
  • The embryonic tissues test results will come back “normal karyotype for girl”—which will also be not helpful because that could mean they just picked up my tissue, not that of the embryo. This result will send my mind into a tailspin of was that my tissue they tested, or was it little star, and was she normal? If she was normal, what does that mean? 
  • I will have complications from this D & C that will produce uterine abnormalities and make it impossible for me to carry a pregnancy.
  • I have found out that one of the couples who used our donor’s eggs now has an ongoing pregnancy. I will find out that she had a miscarriage. And then I will have to go through this entire process of choosing a donor again…
  • I have found out that the other couple who used our donor’s eggs got a BFN. I will find out that they got a BFN using a perfect AA embryo…
  • Three couples, including us, used her eggs. That means she must have produced at least 20 – 24 eggs. Isn’t that a lot? And doesn’t that increase the likelihood that several of those eggs will not produce normal embryos? Like, for example, all of mine?
  • I am going to have to go through the process of prepping myself with Lupron, Lovenox, estrogen, and progesterone, fly to Atlanta again, get up on more tables, see more abnormality, cry more tears, disrupt my life even more, have another D & C, go through this process of up and down, blasted-body-to-recovery, blasted heart, blasted mind, and no baby, no family, caught in a nightmare on repeat…
  • I am going to have to open the massive volume of work, stress, financial hardship, and emotional strain of adoption. I am going to have to research all of that and prepare ourselves for I don’t even know what. And we will become parents much, much, much later than I expected.

You get the picture. For the most part I keep the volume turned down on all this. And then it breaks to the surface and I cry.

I know that the very first step is finding out what the  embryonic test results are. If the results are:

  • abnormal boy or girl, or
  • normal boy

it will tell me volumes. “Normal boy” will be a pandora’s box, of course. Because that will mean that there was some reason other than chormosomes/genetics at play.

But I keep reminding myself that this pregnancy was different, and the one factor that changed in this pregnancy was the origin of the egg. Using a donor egg, I got a fetus and a heartbeat for the very first time. If the same thing were happening with this donor egg pregnancy that has happened with my own-egg pregnancies, it would stand to reason that the pregnancy would look just like the other five—in other words, I would have had no fetus at all. This pregnancy felt different, looked different, and produced a fetus and heartbeat. The other five pregnancies, with my own eggs, produced only chemicals and gestational sacs. If my body were the culprit, then it would stand to reason that this sixth pregnancy would look like the other five—this feels true to me. Right now. We’ll see. But it seems logical.

Dr. San Roman wants to see me soon and take some more of my blood. He says that my RPL/infertility testing actually has been extremely thorough (this I knew), but he’d like to test my blood for a couple of other things—I’m curious as to what.

I want to ask him if he thinks I need to be looked at more closely for endometriosis? Do I need more uterine exams—an SHG for example? Has he ever heard of this very new theory of “super fertility,” and the idea that some women’s uterine environments nurture and grow anything that comes into it, communicate with the embryo in such a way that both “good” and “bad” chromosomes are supported? Or are abnormalities always the result of chromosomal error that occurs during meiosis?

Is it possible that there has been a problem with DH’s genetics all along and we just aren’t able to trace it? How could we trace something like that?

Okay. I had to get that all out. Now on to the dentist, to, I hope, fix a problem with my bite that has been bothering me for literally years (it is amazing what we put off while attending to infertility, isn’t it?). Then on to a salon to dye the horrid gray out of my hair. Then we are getting on the road to Pennsylvania. “Give yourself a break,” says DH. “You have no choice but to wait right now.” I do my best.

Sometimes I feel hope. Sometimes I picture the best case scenario—those two remaining embryos implanting, growing, becoming twins, becoming babies, becoming children. But my experience has taught me that the best case scenario never, ever, happens for me. Why should it start to happen for me now?

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10 Comments

  1. “the best case scenario never, ever, happens for me. Why should it start to happen for me now?”. Yup. that’s exactly how I feel too. The bad things get so deeply rooted in our minds it’s hard to imagine it’s even possible for something good to happen.

    I hope you’re able to get the embryo test results, hopefully that will help you feel a little more closure and a better idea of what happened.

    Reply
    • Deep roots, yes, I’m sorry you have them too. Nothing makes sense right now, why either one of us should have to endure this. I realize now that I probably will not enjoy pregnancy, if I ever make it through 9 months. I think I could have enjoyed this one—I had hope, I was ready. But now—how can I possibly hope again? I will just grit my teeth until there is a successful birth, and maybe then I’ll be able to relax a little. Until then…

      Reply
  2. You are questioning what anyone would in your situation hun. On top of it you’re intelligent and thorough and dedicated to finding out why this is happening. I think we take on an intense ownership of the process and when there are no immediate answers we feel lost, hopeless. And then we size up the possibilities and it becomes even more overwhelming. You are doing the best you can. It’s ok to have these concerns and fears. You have learned so much, and you’re arming yourself with immense knowledge, knowledge that will help you get through this. Supporting you all the way love xx

    Reply
  3. Shana

     /  October 26, 2013

    It’s just heartbreaking to watch. I don’t even know what to say to you, what morsel of hope to offer. How I wish this could be different for you.

    Reply
  4. Kali

     /  October 27, 2013

    Hi, it’s me again, the woman who feels like you’re speaking for her. In fact, my testing on my fetal tissue came back 46XX, so inconclusive, even though the Kaiser lab insists it was accurate–my OB, RE and the genetic testing lab said that is inconclusive unless it goes to a specialty lab.. The second miscarriage from that donor came back 46XX as well, again inconclusive, we never got the third’s results. This led the genetic counselor to warn me that the defect in the embryos may well be one for which testing can’t be done. Which led to the two-month fight with my clinic (which the doctor denies as if it he always agreed with me, even though I have the emails where he is not only refusing me a new donor, but genetic testing, recommending that I put in those blasts untested).

    Even though I’ve moved on to a new donor, I have every one of your fears, let me see if I can recap in my own words:

    1) the one blast that survived the fresh cycle won’t survive. I will take all those meds for another two weeks and drive everyone around me crazy, have two very painful uterine scrapings ($400), get my vagina ,which long ago ceased to be a vehicle of pleasure, probed again and again, to end up with no transfer–last time my lining didn’t build up adequately, for the first time ever. This is preferable to a failed cycle, as if it’s not going to be happen I’d like to be done with this clinic, but will still be just more heartbreak in a heartbreaking year.

    2) RBA won’t accept me into their guarantee program.

    3) My uterus was damaged during my D&C from the D/E m/c, or the subsequent hysteroscopy, or an infection is the reason my lining didn’t build up last time. I had a saline sonogram after each procedure, and the last one confirmed that my uterus looks fine, but which test can tell us everything? As you said I’ll “go through this process of up and down, blasted-body-to-recovery, blasted heart, blasted mind, and no baby, no family, caught in a nightmare on repeat…”

    4) And here you said it perfectly, what those who keep pushing me toward adoption have NEVER faced and refuse to understand “I am going to have to open the massive volume of work, stress, financial hardship, and emotional strain of adoption. I am going to have to research all of that and prepare ourselves for I don’t even know what. And we will become parents much, much, much later than I expected.”

    Reply
    • This isn’t right, what is happening to either one of us. I hate that you had to go through all of that with anger and deep sadness. I am sorry we have so much awful in common, but deeply grateful you are there.

      Reply
  5. Kali

     /  October 27, 2013

    Thank you again for giving voice to my pain. It is agony and I have to continue to function. Most days I make it but then there’s something else. . . .

    This would all be easier without having to deal with other people but we can’t live in a vacuum just because we’re dealing with something devastating, right?

    Your sharing here helps me feel like maybe it’s not vacuum, and I am not alone.

    Reply

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