Miscarriage

A and I decided to try one final round of IVF.  It was a decision that was not made lightly.  I thought about it daily and agonized over the decision for weeks.  When I thought about my reasons for not proceeding with IVF, they were all centered around the IVF process itself and a fear of failing.  My desire for another child hadn’t changed (and neither had A’s).  A and I talked through it and I came to the realization that even though the process was incredibly stressful – physically and emotionally, it was roughly 2 weeks and I could handle 2 weeks of stress.  I also thought I could handle failure.  Yes, it would be difficult, but I’ve already experienced it.  And if we didn’t try one more time, I thought I might regret it later.  At least if we tried and failed, we knew we had tried everything and it just wasn’t meant to be.  After discussing several times and finally deciding to proceed, I felt like a huge weight had lifted and I knew it was the right decision for us.

This IVF cycle was the most difficult I've been through.  There were more injections, more appointments, and lots of disappointment along the way.  I started out with only 8 antral follicles.  Down from the 11 that were observed just a couple months ago and way way down from the 29 I started out with during my last cycle.  Only 6 eggs were retrieved when my previous cycles had produced 19, 20, and 18.  It was so discouraging.  Nothing was easy (not that any part of IVF ever is) and nothing went well. We only started with three embryos.  We later learned that a fourth egg fertilized late.  We had started with 11 embryos in each of the previous cycles.  This all should've been an indication of what was to come.

Imagine my surprise when I took a pregnancy test and got a positive result.  I was shocked.  I took several more because I just couldn't believe it.  So many positives, each test line a little darker than the one before.  I thought maybe, just maybe this was my silver lining after such an awful cycle.  The night I told A, we both cried.  We were so excited.  Cautiously optimistic, but excited.  And then, days later, I learned that my HCG levels were low.  Too low for a healthy pregnancy.  Three days later and that level had decreased.  And just like that, our elation turned to grief.  A and I cried again.  It's so difficult to carry on with work when you feel like your heart is shattering in a million pieces.  It's so hard to be a good mom when all you want to do is hide under the covers never to emerge.  It's so difficult to carry on with life, when there's a pregnant woman around every corner, a commercial showing a new baby every time you turn on the tv, and a pregnancy announcement every time you log into Facebook - women my age seemingly having no trouble conceiving.  It was agonizing knowing this was our last attempt and it ended so very painfully.  Like some cruel joke.  There are no more chances; there is no next time.

I kept wishing that low HCG level was a mistake.  That the clinic would call back and tell me the numbers were wrong.  That the sample was contaminated, that they failed to report a digit.  That it was all a bad dream.  But that doesn't happen in real life.

I find it difficult to give up.  I'm a go-getter, a hard worker, a fighter.  I'm determined to achieve my dreams, persistence is my nature.  And having to give up the desire of another child is perhaps harder than the miscarriage itself.  I don't want to let go, but I have no other choice.

Slowly, with time*, the broken pieces of my heart are being stitched back together.  One day at a time.  One foot in front of the other...


*Our 4th and final cycle began in late July and I miscarried in August.