Yet another large window has gone by since my last post, with much news to share. After the last described, failed round of IUI, we began a new regimen. This began with going on the pill for two weeks. Huh? You say? You’re trying to get pregnant, so you are going on the Pill? Well…. it would seem that we do very well getting pregnant after we come off the Pill. Back in 2005, we went off the Pill, and instantly we were pregnant with Eliot. In 2008, we went off the Pill and bang (so to speak), we were pregnant with Missy #1. (We got pregnant with Missy #2 immediately after we lost Missy #1, so that one was a little different, but still follows a pattern.) Then after Missy #2 in Mar of 2009, nothing, until my last post in November of 2009. It turns out that my cycle goes wonky when left to its own devices, but the Pill gets the rhythm right with my cycle.
SO… we begin the Pill in November. I’m not working at all at this point because I don’t know when I’m going to need to drop everything and run to get an ultrasound or blood test. On a whim, I decide to apply for a job at UC Berkeley Extension. Instead of doing classroom technology training, I would be using my MLIS to help design and develop online courses. By develop, I don’t mean coding, but rather I would be working with subject matter experts to determine the best delivery mechanism for the content, I’d collect and edit the content, and I’d direct the creation of the online course. Pretty cool stuff. Lo and behold, I get the job. I would begin in January. In spite of some reservations about the salary and the state imposed furloughs, the prospect of working close to home and leaving coding behind me is tempting, and I accept the position.
After two weeks on the Pill, the doctor takes me off. A new refrigerated box of medicine arrives at my door when I start a new cycle. The regimen of daily shots and every other day visits to the doctor for bloodwork and ultrasounds ensues. Meanwhile, I’m visiting the acupuncturist once or twice a week and taking herbal supplements that have me constantly flatulating. I’m walking somewhere (fart), I get on the bus (fart), I’m at the grocery store (you guessed it), and I’m getting a vaginal ultrasound (and trying my damnedest not to fart). I actually went to see a GI doc, who had no idea why I was farting every minute of the day, before I traced it back to the Tang-Kuei Evodia I’m taking. Still, the embarrassment is totally worth it when it becomes evident that the IUI cycle is going to go perfectly. I’ve 5 mature follicles, the extra shot that I’m taking (Ganirelex) is keeping me from ovulating too soon, and we’re ready to use the Ovidrel trigger shot to stimulate my ovulation. Exactly 36 hours after the Ovidrel, I go to the doc for the IUI. Earlier that morning Sandy had gone in to make his deposit. His numbers are stellar. Those boys can swim. There’s not much to say about the IUI itself. I had to show ID to pick up Sandy’s specimen, and I had to hold the little test-tube next to my skin to keep it warm. The procedure is quick and painless. The waiting for 2 weeks after the IUI is cruelly long, but on December 25, at my parent’s house in Indiana, we get a positive home pregnancy test. A couple of days later, we go to Chicago to Quest labs for a blood draw and gestational table that is reported back to our RE in the Bay Area. Congratulations, we’re pregnant.
Here’s where I’m going to summarize a bit. As soon as we get the go ahead from the RE, I begin my daily shots of Lovenox in order to keep my blood thin in case that’s why I’m miscarrying. These shots hurt a LOT more than the hormone shots. Still, we’re pregnant. Mid-January, I start my new job at UC. I’m wringing my hands over the fact that I’m pregnant and starting a new job. I confess to Roxanne, my boss, who is a real mensch about the whole thing. I go to the RE for an ultrasound at 7 weeks (instead of 6 and 8 weeks because I don’t have a lot of time off accrued at UC yet). All is well, and we see a heartbeat. I’m feeling nauseated, and we’re elated. I go to the OB at 10 weeks for an ultrasound. Fetus seems a little small, but the doc isn’t worried, we still see a heartbeat. We’re almost out of the woods. We go to the perinatalogist at 12.5 weeks for the CVS, the final hoop (to mix metaphors). No heartbeat. Baby died in the last week. We’re devastated, and needless to say I don’t go back to work that Thursday. Friday I stay home and am on the phone to various doctors to figure out what we do next. My OB cannot perform a D&C because after 12 weeks it’s considered a D&E. So we have to see a specialist in Lafayette. We get an appointment later that day to meet with him. He walks us through the procedure. I’ll come in the night before for the insertion of laminaria sticks that will begin the dialation process. We schedule it for Monday afternoon, March 1st. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m having a procedure to remove my dead baby on my 40th birthday. Happy, happy birthday. The weekend, the procedure and the couple of days that follow the procedure are a blur of emotions and tears.
In the last month, we did a lot of soul searching and discussed our options with this new OB as well as our RE. Insurance will cover another round of IUI so we’re going to proceed with that again. I’m 40 now. There’s no time like the present.