The Third Time Around the Block

I know I haven't been around much. The last time was when we were all excited because we thought making it to embryo transfer (FET) would be easy. That was two attempts ago. When we were cancelled the first time we were upset and angry. When we were cancelled this week for our second FET attempt it was devastating.

There are blogs out there that talk about baby dust and OMG! I tried for one month and I'm pregnant and swimmers and all the other cutesy words that people use for trying to have a baby. Friends, this ain't that blog. So if you're squeemish about body parts and how babies are actually made and what's needed to even attempt to have a baby for 1 in 7 couples that you know, you should log off now. Stop reading. Run from the computer. Shield your eyes.

If you're still with me, here we go. I am one of the 1% that have trouble not only with getting pregnant, but with being able to get to FET. Both times my uterine lining has not been thick enough fast enough. The first time around it was the typical protocol. By the time my lining was actually thick enough my labs were out of whack.

So we went more aggressive the second time around. Injections all around, in fact. I've reached a point where I can do them myself if they're in the stomach. The ones in the butt are just not physically possible for me, and the needles are big enough that I wouldn't want to do them even if my elbows bent backwards. The "should be fail-proof" protocol wasn't so fail proof. My lining never got thick enough. So second attempt was cancelled.

What none of this tells you is that it is emotionally draining, spiritually challenging, financially constricting to be here. It is hard. It hurts. You see everyone around you adding to families, having first babies, seeming to fall pregnant without even wanting to be. Looking at babies hurts. Looking at pregnant ladies hurts. This whole process hurts. And here you are, shelling out thousands of dollars on meds alone to try to have a chance at no regrets. You don't even really believe that any of it will work but you know you need to do everything possible so that when you're 60 years old you don't look back and wonder. As a woman and a wife you start to second guess everything. It feels like you have failed your husband, you've failed at the one thing you are supposed to be able to do. When the process has bumps and roadblocks, it makes you feel even more like a failure. Even with science my body cannot do what it should. If there is anything more disheartening in this process, I haven't found it.

So where does this leave us? We have one last shot at this. Literally one last protocol.  I have trouble even typing those words. But we've tried to be transparent about this process, about the failures, the successes, the struggles. It's hard to be so vulnerable but chances are we're not the only people you know who are struggling to breath some days, who are jealous of those who this comes so easily to, who wonder what else has to be sacrificed to pay for meds, who have learned to not expect good news at any appointment but to prepare for the worst.

If you're lucky enough to have children, hug them a little tighter tonight. If you know someone who is desperately trying to have a baby, love on them a little more the next time you see them.  In the meantime I'll be drinking wine and eating sushi until I can't anymore. Maybe I'll go jump on a trampoline too.