Crashing down

By the time we went into our appointment with the obstetrician I think my hope was outweighed by my doubts. When the ob asked "how are you going?" I was very quick to reply that we weren't so great. I quickly explained the result of the ultrasound from the week before. The ob said it was probably best we get straight to having a look, rather than spend half an hour talking about pregnancy management, just to find out things aren't looking good. He also told us a story about a woman he'd seen whose first scan didn't look good, with the baby having a heartbeat of 78. He said when she came back he felt nervous about what the scan would show, but that everything was great, the baby had a heartbeat over 160 and had really grown.

A glimmer of hope just as we get on the bed for the scan. 

He starts with an external scan. By this time, 8 and a half weeks, the baby should be clearly visible from an external scan. By how hard the ultrasound thing was pushing on me I could tell it was hard for the ob to see the baby, and from what I could see on screen it didn't look good. He switched to an internal scan where he confirmed that things didn't look good. He said he was sorry, but from what he could see the baby didn't have a heartbeat and the size hadn't changed from our last scan. 

Procedure from this point is to have a high resolution/diagnostic scan. The portable scanners the obs have apparently can miss stuff, so they are reluctant to recommend the curette without the diagnostic scan. Our ob rings the women's diagnostic centre and gets us an appointment in a couple of hours. He asks if the result is as expected if we'd like to have the curette that night if they can get a theatre booking.

We head home for a couple of hours. Given we have the chance of having the operation in the evening I've got to eat something now, and then I'm on nil by mouth, just in case we can secure the evening theatre time. An hour before our appointment I drink the obligatory pre ultrasound water, knowing no matter how full my bladder is they will still need to do the internal scan. 

It's funny that it doesn't really matter that we already know that it is pretty much over, when the sonographer sympathetically tells us she can't find a heartbeat I still can't help but cry. She confirms the baby is still the same size it was a week and a half ago. She looks around to make sure the other embryo isn't tucked away somewhere it shouldn't be, but there is nothing else, just the one that is no longer a viable pregnancy. 

With our results in hand we head back over to the obstetrician's office where he quickly sees us between patients. He asks if we'd like to have the curette that night or tomorrow morning. I opt to have it done that night, so that way only one day revolves around the whole ordeal. 

We head home to pack 'a just in case' overnight bag and by 5pm we are back at the hospital being admitted. By 6.30pm I am wheeled down to pre-op and by 8pm I'm back in my room texting home. They keep me in for a few hours and then we are allowed to go home.

Despite having a body full of sleepy drugs I didn't sleep well. I couldn't get into a deep sleep. I don't cry, just toss and turn. 

Feeling futile

Before it was medically confirmed, I was pretty certain this transfer cycle hasn't worked. I did 3 home pregnancy tests and all were completely negative.

I blew off the blood test wait and went in a couple of days early to simply get the result confirmed. And it was - negative.

Did you hear the sound of the twist top wine bottle opening?

I've experienced anxiety throughout the wait and while I have definitely been frustated about a the cycle not working, I have already decided to head straight back into another cycle.

Logically I know I just have get ready to try again, but this failure has me asking questions about just how much more of it we can take. I resent the money we've spent on numerous treatments and treating lost pregnancies. Tens of thousands of dollars that is just running through our fingers like water. I also resent that my career is stalling. Spending more, earning the same, going nowhere, with nothing but pain, heartache, scars and sad feelings to show for it.

With failure after failure you have to ask, when do you stop? When do you decide to just simply get on with your life? While I don't know the answer to this question I do know, it is not yet.

Three frozen embryos are still waiting to be used, and I intend to burn through them, before ploughing straight on to make more embryos (presuming we are able to replicate another successful stimulated IVF cycle) unless by some miracle I actually manage to get pregnant, and have a baby.

Getting on with it - again

For the last couple of weeks I've just been getting on with it. Back to work. Hanging out at home on the weekend. Planning our annual beach holiday. Even with the terrible sadness of this miscarriage, in just a couple of weeks it feels like another blip and everything is again about next time.

I was so quickly getting back to normal that I almost forgot to follow up the results of the miscarriage to see  if they could identify the cause. I did eventually remember and was a little surprised to hear that this time it wasn't trisomy. My fertility specialist explained it was probably still a genetic defect, but that looking for chromosome problems is like walking down the street and looking at houses to see which one isn't quite right, where as a genetic defect is like trying to find a faulty toaster in one of the houses, only you don't know what house has it, or what appliance is faulty. Basically, it is really hard to know where to look to find the problem, unless you know what you are looking for.

I decided I don't care. There is nothing I can do about it. Apparently some people find this result terrible unsatisfying. I however find the whole failing to successfully have a baby is a lot more dissatisfying, and can't see the point in dwelling on a faulty toaster.

I've made an appointment for Matt and I to go and see the specialist together toward the end of the month to discuss our best options at this point. We still have 5 frozen embryos, so I suspect it will simply be a case of transferring those, until:
a - we actually have a baby (which in my mind feels so strangely unachievable for a couple that appear exceptionally capable of getting pregnant) or
b - run out of embryos and need to decide if we will make more embryos.

Maybe I'll try and lose some more weight... Don't know that this will make any difference given that getting pregnant doesn't appear to be our problem. [On a side note - that damn biggest loser story line with Brenda trying to get pregnant for 8 years and her partner leaving her to start a family with someone else has been absolutely horrifying to me - so much so I can't watch the show - perhaps for another a post]

Next time perhaps we will be lucky. Next time maybe the embryo/s will be perfect and will develop as they should. Next time, next time....