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| Today is Sam's first Father's Day!! It is also, incidentally, Hannah's 6th month-day. |
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Father's Day Post!
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Mythbuster: A single embryo transfer
Under Inspection:
A couple must transfer at least 2 embryos in order to have any hope for a pregnancy, especially if the embryos have been frozen.
Background:
Many people think they must accept a multiple embryo transfer, and for some, that is their best option. The fact is though, that it highly depends on several factors, such as:
- The age and fertility status of the genetic mother. (Ours was young)
- The age and fertility status of the receiving mother. (I was in my late 20s, with no uterine deformities)
- The method of freezing and the age of the embryo(s). (Ours were frozen about 4 years before our first transfer, at 5 days of age- blastocyst stage)
- The skill and experience of the embryologist doing the thawing. (Our clinic has, I think, an excellent embryology team)
- How many embryo babies are in each "straw." (We received 4 straws- 3 of which had 1 embryo each, and one of which had 2)
I already knew I wanted to try a Single Embryo Transfer (SET), and my doctor recommended either 1 or 2 embryos, so it was an easy decision for us. I did realize that this might mean less of a likelihood of pregnancy on our first try. On the other hand, I was only risking one life at a time, and giving that one baby the best chance possible to be born full-term and healthy. We plan to do the same with the other single-embryo straws in the future.
Factual Experience:
For our first transfer, we chose to thaw and transfer only one embryo out of the five that we received from the donating family. She survived, and is taking a nap right now!
So we went from this (embryo picture magnified times about a zillion)
To this:
To this:
Conclusion that SET never works, especially not on the first try: Myth!
Monday, June 11, 2012
Unswaddled Naps
This blog may skip around a bit until I have a chance to re-arrange the timeline. So since I've shared a little background to start, now I'd like to jump to present time and share a little current news in my Non-Mythical Mommy world.
Hannah has slept swaddled since we figured out that she wouldn't hardly sleep any other way somewhere in her 3rd week of life. However, shortly after 4 months, she figured out how to flip onto her belly, even in her swaddle. We decided that was a dangerous way to sleep, and figured we had to unswaddle her. This was the result:
After several days of that, we gave up and reswaddled, at which point she decided she liked sleeping on her back best anyway, and we were all happy again. But really, at almost 6 months, she is just about too big for her little swaddlers, and she needs to learn to sleep without them anyway. We've been successful at nighttime since we first tried unswaddling, but naps are a different story. Until this week. I can now get her to nap in the morning, unswaddled! Afternoons, not so much. Maybe next month.
Hannah has slept swaddled since we figured out that she wouldn't hardly sleep any other way somewhere in her 3rd week of life. However, shortly after 4 months, she figured out how to flip onto her belly, even in her swaddle. We decided that was a dangerous way to sleep, and figured we had to unswaddle her. This was the result:
After several days of that, we gave up and reswaddled, at which point she decided she liked sleeping on her back best anyway, and we were all happy again. But really, at almost 6 months, she is just about too big for her little swaddlers, and she needs to learn to sleep without them anyway. We've been successful at nighttime since we first tried unswaddling, but naps are a different story. Until this week. I can now get her to nap in the morning, unswaddled! Afternoons, not so much. Maybe next month.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Pregnancy after Infertility
Pregnancy after Infertility was a very surreal experience for me. I had had one loss early on, and had met many other women who had miscarried or had stillbirths as I sought out support for our journey, and the thought that nothing was guaranteed for 9+ months scared. me. to. death. I can honestly say I savored every moment, because every moment I also had the lingering thought that it could be the last one.
I was spared a lot of worry because my clinic was not extremely intervention happy if there was no indication for testing. I had a light but positive home pregnancy test 6 days after a 5 day transfer (if I remember correctly), and an HcG (blood test) that registered in the 70's 9 days after transfer. The level was 78? Maybe? Most clinics will do a second blood test 48 hours later, and sometimes even a third 48 hours after that, but mine didn't as long as the number was "high enough," and mine was high enough for them.
At 7 weeks, I had an ultrasound, which happened to coincide with an episode of bleeding, so seeing the heartbeat on that screen was the best feeling in the world after the worst morning I could have imagined. Hannah was measuring about a week behind at that point, so I went in again at 8 weeks and she was growing just fine. I think I cried on the table. I could have had an ultrasound every week if I had wanted, but my clinic was fine with me not doing so too, so I didn't make the hour and a quarter drive after that.
I continued taking progesterone shots/ suppositories (we used the progesterone in oil up so as to maximize our investment- that stuff's expensive!) until 11 weeks, and then I was released from the Reproductive Endocrinologist's care. I was just... pregnant! And low risk at that. I called a midwife, and started normal care.
But I didn't feel normal. The infertility feelings didn't go away. We took a picture every week, and every week I wondered if that would be the last one. I blushed and changed the subject when people would comment on my pregnancy. I felt that I was not allowed to experience negative emotions regarding or complain about the discomforts of morning sickness or exhaustion. I didn't prep a nursery. I wanted to run away when the time came to register for baby items, and I was intensely uncomfortable at my own baby shower.
Don't misunderstand, I was certainly overwhelmingly grateful, but I was not overwhelmingly happy. I wouldn't say I was fearful, but my emotions were definitely reserved. I remembered what it was like to be naively excited and optimistic before I experienced the loss of a baby, and those feelings did not resurrect themselves after 3 years of grief in not getting pregnant again.
Every woman experiences this differently. A lot of my situation, I believe, stems from my naturally introverted personality. Some women are nothing but excited after years of trying, but I have also met several others, like me, for whom pregnancy after infertility is a very private and protective experience. I have since learned that infertility can predispose a woman to pregnancy and post-partum depression, neither of which I experienced, but I can definitely see why this would be true.
Once I was in the third trimester, I began to get a little bit of that excitement that seems to be expected. A friend of ours, who was a budding photographer, gave us a photo shoot, and those are some of the best memories I have of that sweet and special time. She perfectly captured the intimacy and preciousness of how I felt savoring the life inside me. I'll end by sharing a few of my favorites.
I was spared a lot of worry because my clinic was not extremely intervention happy if there was no indication for testing. I had a light but positive home pregnancy test 6 days after a 5 day transfer (if I remember correctly), and an HcG (blood test) that registered in the 70's 9 days after transfer. The level was 78? Maybe? Most clinics will do a second blood test 48 hours later, and sometimes even a third 48 hours after that, but mine didn't as long as the number was "high enough," and mine was high enough for them.
At 7 weeks, I had an ultrasound, which happened to coincide with an episode of bleeding, so seeing the heartbeat on that screen was the best feeling in the world after the worst morning I could have imagined. Hannah was measuring about a week behind at that point, so I went in again at 8 weeks and she was growing just fine. I think I cried on the table. I could have had an ultrasound every week if I had wanted, but my clinic was fine with me not doing so too, so I didn't make the hour and a quarter drive after that.
I continued taking progesterone shots/ suppositories (we used the progesterone in oil up so as to maximize our investment- that stuff's expensive!) until 11 weeks, and then I was released from the Reproductive Endocrinologist's care. I was just... pregnant! And low risk at that. I called a midwife, and started normal care.
But I didn't feel normal. The infertility feelings didn't go away. We took a picture every week, and every week I wondered if that would be the last one. I blushed and changed the subject when people would comment on my pregnancy. I felt that I was not allowed to experience negative emotions regarding or complain about the discomforts of morning sickness or exhaustion. I didn't prep a nursery. I wanted to run away when the time came to register for baby items, and I was intensely uncomfortable at my own baby shower.
Don't misunderstand, I was certainly overwhelmingly grateful, but I was not overwhelmingly happy. I wouldn't say I was fearful, but my emotions were definitely reserved. I remembered what it was like to be naively excited and optimistic before I experienced the loss of a baby, and those feelings did not resurrect themselves after 3 years of grief in not getting pregnant again.
Every woman experiences this differently. A lot of my situation, I believe, stems from my naturally introverted personality. Some women are nothing but excited after years of trying, but I have also met several others, like me, for whom pregnancy after infertility is a very private and protective experience. I have since learned that infertility can predispose a woman to pregnancy and post-partum depression, neither of which I experienced, but I can definitely see why this would be true.
Once I was in the third trimester, I began to get a little bit of that excitement that seems to be expected. A friend of ours, who was a budding photographer, gave us a photo shoot, and those are some of the best memories I have of that sweet and special time. She perfectly captured the intimacy and preciousness of how I felt savoring the life inside me. I'll end by sharing a few of my favorites.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Transfer of Property, or, Adoption of the Heart
The process of contract to transferring an embryo is very medical and seems very sterile on paper. While I have never been Catholic, their criticism of assistive reproductive therapy as "clinical" and "unloving (their term, not mine)" has its place in the experience, for sure. What they seem to miss is the emotional aspect that nobody wants to go to the doctor to get pregnant. And for us, getting pregnant clinically was the *only* way we would ever have the chance to meet these babies and welcome them into our lives. As I stared at the paper outlining the medication and procedure calendar, I realized I was understanding how parents become willing to do anything for their children, without reservation, without second thought, no matter how far removed a decision had seemed from them previously.
To start with, I had to start taking hormonal birth control in mid-February 2011, something I had never done before in my life (I realize that some women have been able to do natural cycles without medication and hormones, but this wasn't possible for my body). Then I had to start giving myself shots of Lupron (a hormone suppressant) in the stomach starting early March. To that, we added a "baby" Aspirin per day, and then started mimicking a the early phase of a natural cycle by taking estrogen in increasing doses after about a week on the Lupron. Half-way through March, I had an ultrasound to check my lining and make sure I wasn't trying to ovulate through all those meds trying to stop me from doing so.
A week later I had another ultrasound, and when it was determined that I had built a sufficiently thick lining with the Estrogen pills, I started taking intramuscular shots of Progesterone. Lucky Mr. Myth got to give them to me, and yes, I can assure you, if this had been a dream, those shots would have woken me up. It wasn't a dream though, and I also started taking an antibiotic and an oral steroid to make sure no infection or immune system flare could hinder implantation. Prednisone, I discovered, tastes like gasoline, no matter how you attempt to take it, but even that failed to jolt me out of any sort of delusion. This was real.
The morning of March 29th, 2011, we drove the 4 hours to our clinic (have I mentioned we live in the middle of nowhere?) and signed into our clinic for our transfer. The only choice we had made prior to the transfer was to only thaw and place 1 embryo, since the babies were all frozen individually. I have no idea what "grade" had been assigned, and the staff didn't volunteer the information. All I know is that when we were pulled back to the room, we were told that 1 thaw had been attempted, and the embryo had survived. I wanted to express some emotion- laugh, cry, but the truth is that I had a very full bladder for the procedure to come, and couldn't really breath deeply for fear of losing it and having to wait while it refilled. I just remember smiling, nervous as all get-out, feeling relieved, and sitting very, very still.
Unsurprisingly, my bladder was actually too full, and they sent me to relieve *some* of the pressure, which was its own special form of torture, but made me much more comfortable and able to focus on what was going on. Placing the embryo was very quick- maybe 10 minutes? Maybe less? The doctor came in and reviewed my chart. They asked me my name and date of birth for the umpteenth time, just to make sure, and then brought in a very normal looking catheter. Sam and I could watch the ultrasound on a very big screen right above the obstetric table. They put a very small bubble of air in the catheter where the embryo was, so that the first time we saw our daughter (not that we knew she was a girl then), we saw this:
To start with, I had to start taking hormonal birth control in mid-February 2011, something I had never done before in my life (I realize that some women have been able to do natural cycles without medication and hormones, but this wasn't possible for my body). Then I had to start giving myself shots of Lupron (a hormone suppressant) in the stomach starting early March. To that, we added a "baby" Aspirin per day, and then started mimicking a the early phase of a natural cycle by taking estrogen in increasing doses after about a week on the Lupron. Half-way through March, I had an ultrasound to check my lining and make sure I wasn't trying to ovulate through all those meds trying to stop me from doing so.
A week later I had another ultrasound, and when it was determined that I had built a sufficiently thick lining with the Estrogen pills, I started taking intramuscular shots of Progesterone. Lucky Mr. Myth got to give them to me, and yes, I can assure you, if this had been a dream, those shots would have woken me up. It wasn't a dream though, and I also started taking an antibiotic and an oral steroid to make sure no infection or immune system flare could hinder implantation. Prednisone, I discovered, tastes like gasoline, no matter how you attempt to take it, but even that failed to jolt me out of any sort of delusion. This was real.
The morning of March 29th, 2011, we drove the 4 hours to our clinic (have I mentioned we live in the middle of nowhere?) and signed into our clinic for our transfer. The only choice we had made prior to the transfer was to only thaw and place 1 embryo, since the babies were all frozen individually. I have no idea what "grade" had been assigned, and the staff didn't volunteer the information. All I know is that when we were pulled back to the room, we were told that 1 thaw had been attempted, and the embryo had survived. I wanted to express some emotion- laugh, cry, but the truth is that I had a very full bladder for the procedure to come, and couldn't really breath deeply for fear of losing it and having to wait while it refilled. I just remember smiling, nervous as all get-out, feeling relieved, and sitting very, very still.
Unsurprisingly, my bladder was actually too full, and they sent me to relieve *some* of the pressure, which was its own special form of torture, but made me much more comfortable and able to focus on what was going on. Placing the embryo was very quick- maybe 10 minutes? Maybe less? The doctor came in and reviewed my chart. They asked me my name and date of birth for the umpteenth time, just to make sure, and then brought in a very normal looking catheter. Sam and I could watch the ultrasound on a very big screen right above the obstetric table. They put a very small bubble of air in the catheter where the embryo was, so that the first time we saw our daughter (not that we knew she was a girl then), we saw this:
It's rather surreal, when it's all over in just a couple of minutes, and you're lying there, holding your husband's hand, thinking, "That's it? Now I'm pregnant?" The doctor wished us luck and left the room. Them embryologist came in next, and handed us a picture of the embryo right after the thaw. I remember looking at it and saying "Hi baby!" She was 120-something cells, just expanding after being rehydrated and warmed, (and yes, there is a thin spot where assisted hatching had been performed, for those who are interested), and looked like this:
In our contract, to protect the embryos from abandonment by the adoptive parents, the adoption isn't actually finalized until the baby is thawed and transferred. The law calls agreements regarding unborn lives a "transfer of property." It is abundantly clear, however, that we had not just become the *owners* of this little life, we had become parents for however long its life continued. We just stared at the picture, marveling at the details of the tiny speck of white in the ultrasound, and prayed that God would be the sustainer of life, acknowledging that any and all ownership rights belonged to Him alone.
And we were very, very happy.
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Match
Writing this post is kind of like writing about my first kiss. What I'm about to share is so wonderful that I'd like everyone to be able to feel what I felt, but at the same time it's so personal and intimate that I just feel kind of exposed and hopeless trying to communicate what it was like. I wonder if I should even put something so intimate out there, or instead just Emily Dickinson it away in my personal chest of unpublished posts, away from the prying eyes of those whom I don't know will ever possibly understand.
Amen, and Amen.
We received a packet of information and pictures from the couple who was hoping to donate their embryos to us. It contained pictures of their children, a written medical history of their family, a worksheet about their personal lives and decisions they've made in regards to the freezer babies, and a packet of information from their clinic about the egg donor they had used. These words are already completely inadequate. It was a packet of distilled hope for their children from them to us, threadbare in its facts, but swollen with unspoken importance behind every fact and picture.
The first thing I saw was a picture of the most adorable little boy with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, that his mother must have been so proud to show off. I had to keep mentally reminding myself that I wasn't trying to adopt him, and that his siblings would be just as precious. After having spent so long aching for a child of my own though, holding that picture almost felt like he was mine in some cathartic sense. This feeling escalated as we showed family and friends who had been praying with us for this match, and they oohed and ahed over him and his brother. They all commented how they thought the baby in the picture could easily be mistaken for "ours" in the biological sense.
Sam and I had decided a long time before this that we weren't going to reject any embryos offered to us based on family history or physical characteristics. Our goal was never eugenics in any sense, and we knew there were no guarantees anyway, so the medical information included was really just that: information. There was cancer mentioned. There was deafness and diabetes and lung disease. I wonder what it was like, writing those things down, wondering if anything would cause a potential adoptive family to say that the babies weren't good enough, might not be healthy enough. I hope that this thought never crossed their minds, because all we saw was data that our children would use to complete forms- important to know, but not scary or worrisome.
Then there was the personal information. We learned about a few of the interests, occupations, and physical characteristics of this family. It struck me that although they had used an egg donor, the donating mom still included her own information, that she wanted us to know her, not just put down "genetic" info, including her husband only, and I am profoundly grateful. I want to know her, because without her, our babies wouldn't exist. I suspect that without her, my family wouldn't have been picked. And without her, I wouldn't feel this connection to another mother who had also longed for a baby and knew exactly what I was feeling as I waited for a miracle that only another woman could give me.
As I read, I found myself drawn in spirit to this woman who shared my faith, who stated that "Life is sacred, and if God gives us a gift, He calls us to nurture and value it." She went on to ask directly, knowing that I would be reading it, if their embryos might be ours to nurture? As I read, I wept. At that moment, I was committed, body and soul, to following through with doing everything I could do to accept the charge of motherhood for the babies that this family had waiting. It was less of a hope and more of a reality, now that I had the words of this precious mother ringing in my head as permission and commission to love her children and make them my own.
The unique nature of embryo adoption, among other things, is this: the donating couple and the adopting couple are almost always joined by the bond of infertility. This is a fear on everyone's part, I am sure. The adopting couple wonders if the embryos might not be viable since their parents couldn't conceive naturally, and the donating couple wonders if the embryos might not survive since the adoptive mother hasn't successfully carried her own children in her womb. Our donating family took this fact as an opportunity to minister to us, not knowing if this match would result in living children. They said, and I echo to everyone I know who is waiting:
"May God bless you with children! But, if He does not, I pray that His generous hand will more than fill your lives with joy, purpose, and peace."
Amen, and Amen.
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Call
It's funny what makes us remember certain things. I'll remember this date forever, but not because I'm good with dates. Rather, I remember that The Year of Waiting was bounded, largely, by my little sister's pregnancy. I got her phone call telling me she was pregnant as we were on our way to visit friends and ask them if they would write us a recommendation for our homestudy. While I love my sister, and I truly enjoyed our homestudy process, that particular weekend was marked with tears, self-pity, and lots of cake as it really hit home to me how simple becoming a parent is supposed to be, as opposed to having to get referrals and affidavits just to have the chance to try.
Our friends took pictures for us to put into our profile to send to donating families. I had been so excited about it, but I remember forcing the smiles for the camera as it flashed through my head over and over again that we shouldn't "have" to be doing this. I completely understand the need for adoptive parents to go through a screening process, and I agree with it, but there are times when a couple who is adopting after infertility especially feels awkward about selling themselves as good potential parents. Of course, I didn't include these captions on our real profile, but I was thinking something along these lines.
That was April. By late autumn, as our "should have been matched by now" date had come and gone, I was trying my very best to hold it together emotionally, but I was on thin ice. I missed my sister's baby shower because I didn't trust myself to be any kind of good company for her. I started running to lose the pity-cake-eating induced weight I'd gained that year, and to get myself out of the house after work. I hate running.... I did it anyway. I figured if I couldn't have kids yet, I could at least be healthy and thin- I don't know if that's a good reason to run, but I do know that the running did help my mood!
Finally, December 12th 2010, my sister delivered. Sam and I had gone to the drive-in with friends, and ended up texting back and forth with my dad the whole evening about her progress (we live 6 hours away). She and my new niece did beautifully, and I don't think I cried, but I definitely felt numb. Infertility does that- it takes away your normal emotions and filters everything through a meat grinder, before spitting it out mangled and ruined into your consciousness. I don't honestly even remember if I called my sister directly to congratulate her. I really hope I did.
The next day was Monday. At 9:45 a.m., right after first period let out and my students had left the classroom, I drew in a sharp breath, and burst into gasping tears. Sam, who taught in the next class over and could hear everything, came running faster than I have ever seen him, convinced that something terrible had happened to me. I couldn't even speak. All I could do was turn my computer screen towards him and show him where I had opened my e-mail, and was reading the subject line that said:
Our friends took pictures for us to put into our profile to send to donating families. I had been so excited about it, but I remember forcing the smiles for the camera as it flashed through my head over and over again that we shouldn't "have" to be doing this. I completely understand the need for adoptive parents to go through a screening process, and I agree with it, but there are times when a couple who is adopting after infertility especially feels awkward about selling themselves as good potential parents. Of course, I didn't include these captions on our real profile, but I was thinking something along these lines.
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| Look! We're happy, healthy, and we love each other! Pick us! Plus, we may or may not actually live on this beautiful beach! |
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| We have a clean kitchen, and Mr. Myth even washes dishes! What a great guy! Why no, this picture wasn't staged at all!! |
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| Aaaaaand, we have books! Lots of books! Books in every subject and category! More books than a potential child could ever read in a lifetime! We will educate said theoretical children very well! |
That was April. By late autumn, as our "should have been matched by now" date had come and gone, I was trying my very best to hold it together emotionally, but I was on thin ice. I missed my sister's baby shower because I didn't trust myself to be any kind of good company for her. I started running to lose the pity-cake-eating induced weight I'd gained that year, and to get myself out of the house after work. I hate running.... I did it anyway. I figured if I couldn't have kids yet, I could at least be healthy and thin- I don't know if that's a good reason to run, but I do know that the running did help my mood!
Finally, December 12th 2010, my sister delivered. Sam and I had gone to the drive-in with friends, and ended up texting back and forth with my dad the whole evening about her progress (we live 6 hours away). She and my new niece did beautifully, and I don't think I cried, but I definitely felt numb. Infertility does that- it takes away your normal emotions and filters everything through a meat grinder, before spitting it out mangled and ruined into your consciousness. I don't honestly even remember if I called my sister directly to congratulate her. I really hope I did.
The next day was Monday. At 9:45 a.m., right after first period let out and my students had left the classroom, I drew in a sharp breath, and burst into gasping tears. Sam, who taught in the next class over and could hear everything, came running faster than I have ever seen him, convinced that something terrible had happened to me. I couldn't even speak. All I could do was turn my computer screen towards him and show him where I had opened my e-mail, and was reading the subject line that said:
We have a family that is excited about you! Congratulations!!
On December 13, 2010, we were introduced to a family who wanted us to consider giving their embryos a chance to continue their lives. Our wait to be matched was over, and our dreams were beginning to take shape in reality.
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