Hola, friends. So if you've seen my recent facebook post, you probably already know that I am pregnant. Yay! What you may not know, is that it took us quite awhile to get here. For the past few years, my husband and I have been suffering from what is known as "secondary infertility." This basically just means that even though we had one child without any medical fertility assistance, it wasn't so easy for us the second time around.
What we've been through is not that uncommon; many couples suffer from infertility, and many women experience miscarriages. But most people prefer not to talk about it. Either it's too personal, too painful, embarrassing; there are plenty of reasons. I, on the other hand, am an open book, and have absolutely no problem talking about what we've been through. The only reason I haven't done so publicly prior to now, is because of what I do for a living. Every day I meet women basking in the glow of their eighth month of pregnancy, or embracing the joy associated with their brand new baby. And to wear my losses on my sleeve feels like it would put a damper on their happiness. Like they would have to be sensitive around me, and not fully express their joy. And that is the last thing I wanted to do.
But now that I can see the light at the end of our tunnel, nobody has to feel badly for me. And so now felt like a perfect time to share our experience. I think it's good for people to talk about these issues, so others know they are not alone. I'd also love to bring awareness to those who may not realize what some women go through. So without further ado, here are just some of the highlights (or rather, low points in some cases), of my last few years. (And I apologize in advance for any overshares.)
After my son was born, I knew I wanted to space my children about four years apart. But I actually ended up getting pregnant a couple months before he turned three. A little earlier than planned, but my husband and I were happy. Morning sickness started to kick in, and everything seemed normal. I went in for my first appointment at 8 weeks, and we were able to see and hear the heartbeat, but the doctor said I was only measuring 6 weeks. In retrospect, this was a clear sign that something was wrong; I was sure of the dates of my cycle. But my doctor was not concerned, and told me to come back in two weeks. I never made it that far.
About a week later I started bleeding and experiencing back pain, the same type I experience during my period. I somehow miraculously made it through my morning photo session, but things were not getting better so I called my doctor's office. Because she was not in, they told me to go to the ER. This was the worst decision ever, and I wish I had just stayed home. I went to the ER, and experienced the worst day of my life, to date. I spent the entire day there, starving with nothing to eat, while everyone tiptoed around me, not really knowing how to speak to me. And when you're having a miscarriage, it's not like they can do anything to stop it. I guess there must be some rule or protocol where no one is allowed to say "miscarriage" or even really acknowledge it. So every time I said something along the lines of.. "I think I'm having a miscarriage," their response was, "oh, so you're having some bleeding, huh?" After a lot of waiting around, I went to the restroom, and ended up passing everything. At that point, I knew with certainty that it was over. I told the doctor, but they still sent me off for an ultrasound. The ultrasound tech asked me why I was there, I told her I had just miscarried, to which she responded with the usual, "so you're having some bleeding?" I knew she wasn't allowed to say anything about the ultrasound, so I laid there silently as to not make her more uncomfortable, but I knew what she was seeing on the screen.. nothing. She then walked me back to the waiting area, and very cheerfully wished me good luck. I waited for awhile longer until the doctor finally walked over to me with the "results." He pointed to the line that basically said there was no pregnancy and he said.. "So here are your results. Things didn't go so well today, huh?" And that about wrapped up my ER experience, which by the way, cost me thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars in medical bills.
About seven months later, I got pregnant again, and the timing was perfect. I found out I was pregnant the same week we moved into our new house. Morning sickness kicked in just like usual, and I headed off to my first 8 week appointment. But this time, there was just a sac with no fetus. The doctor asked me if I was sure about the dates; I was. She rushed me off to radiology anyway for another ultrasound which was basically the same as my ER ultrasound, where I laid there quietly knowing nothing was on the screen. The doctor called me the next day to tell me what I already knew, and prescribed some medicine to help my body end the pregnancy. This one was physically painful, but thankfully was over within a day, just like the first one.
For the following year, I tried hard to get pregnant. I was tracking my days, peeing on ovulation sticks, timing everything perfectly, but still month after month, nothing happened. After almost an entire year of this went by, I decided to make an appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist. My husband and I went through lots, and lots, and lots of testing, and the main issue she was able to zero in on was my husband's morphology. Apparently there are a lot of different things that can be wrong with sperm; morphology refers to its shape. Because we were "young," she decided to put him on a bunch of different supplements to try to improve his 1% morphology to at least 5%, and told us to come back in three months to retest. If he could reach 5%, we would try IUI (intrauterine insemination). It's a less invasive, less costly alternative to IVF, where they basically just try to give the sperm a headstart by placing them directly into the uterus, closer to where they need to go.
Here's a shot of all the vials I had to fill with blood in one sitting. Just the beginning of all the tests I would endure.
By almost the end of the three months, I got pregnant again. But this was to be my shortest pregnancy yet. I miscarried again, this time at just 6 weeks. Yet somehow, this one was by far the worst. My husband was out of state and unable to come home, so maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was home alone with my son, taking care of myself. After being up all night on day one, I thought it was over, but it continued. I was losing so much blood that I had a constant pounding in my head. I couldn't walk from one room to the next without starting to black out, so I would literally crawl out of bed to the bathroom, which is the only place I could bring myself to go, taking breaks as I went. Luckily because of my husband's back issues, our bed is a mattress on the floor.
Stratton, my amazing four-year-old at the time stayed home in bed with me all week because I knew I couldn't drive him to school. He would get up in the morning, go downstairs and make himself some food, and bring me up snacks and gatorade all day. He enjoyed some delivery sushi with me (my traditional miscarriage food), and he didn't ask me for a single thing. At one point I scooted my way down the stairs with him to get us some dinner (easy mac), and found myself waking up on the kitchen floor, with no recollection as to how I got there or how long it had been. If not for my son, I may not have been able to figure it out. As I gained consciousness, I saw him at the kitchen table, talking to himself, or his toys. He didn't even notice me laying there, so it couldn't have been long. As I listened to his chatter, he brought me back to the present and I remembered I had been sitting in front of the microwave before the beep went off. I must have collapsed when I tried to stand up.
Day three was the worst, and (TMI ahead warning), it got to the point where every time I went to the bathroom (every 20-30 minutes or so), I would gush an enormous amount of tissue. Finally, when I caught myself about to fall off the toilet and crash into the wall from losing consciousness, I decided it was time to get help. I had been avoiding it because of my first ER experience, and I assumed if I went, I would need a D&C, which I really didn't want. But in tears, I called my mother who lives a couple hours away to come help, and bring me to the hospital. For context, I had not yet told her I was pregnant, and hadn't planned to until I made the official announcement. By the time she arrived, the bleeding had slowed, so I felt I was fine to stay home, and that's what I did. My head was pounding the rest of the week, and I continued crawling from room to room, but eventually I got back to a functioning state.
My husband went back to re-test, and his morphology showed zero improvement. So the only option that remained for us was IVF. If you're not familiar with IVF, it's a long process where the woman is loaded up with a bunch of drugs to stimulate egg production, eggs are retrieved during a surgical procedure, fertilized outside of the body, and healthy embryos are ultimately transferred back to the uterus to implant. I'm sure that description is not really medically accurate, but that is the gist. It is also insanely, insanely expensive. We owe thanks to my amazing dad, for helping us with the finances to actually go through with it.
And while I'm giving thanks, I'd also like to acknowledge my wonderful doctor, Dr. Norian at HRC in Rancho Cucamonga. If you are seeking fertility treatments in southern California, I would highly, highly recommend him. I have nothing but positive things to say about him and his entire staff. Thank you to him, my IVF coordinators Saba and Cynthia, to the wonderful nurses at the Pasadena location who took care of me during three surgeries and a transfer procedure. Thank you to the nurse there who picked me up and stayed with me while I relieved myself after having passed out on the bathroom floor after surgery. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
After deciding on IVF, it took us awhile to actually get to the part where we could begin. There was more testing to do, a polypectomy surgery for me, a chicken pox vaccination I had to get because my mild childhood case didn't leave me immune, etc. etc. etc. And amidst the testing, my Dr. was concerned to find that my hemoglobin levels were only at a 7. (Normal is I believe somewhere between 12 and 15.) "Aren't you tired?" he asked me. Sure, I thought. I'm a mom. This was a few months past my last miscarriage and I guess I hadn't fully bounced back. I still got lightheaded from time to time, and I couldn't walk down the street without getting winded and having to turn around, but I hadn't worked out since the miscarriage, so I just chalked it all up to being out of shape. So he sent me back to my primary doctor, who saw the results and exclaimed, "YOU'RE A SEVEN!? We transfuse at eight! I just pronounced a woman dead when she hit four!" And I immediately thought back to being home alone with my precious boy during that miscarriage, and me stubbornly avoiding going to the hospital. What must my hemoglobin have been then? I am so, so, so thankful that it all worked out, but in retrospect, I was an idiot, and I should have gone to the hospital.
So after everything was taken care of, we were finally able to begin IVF. Leading up to retrieval, I had to give myself daily injections (some days up to three) either in my stomach or thigh. I had ultrasounds every couple days to monitor the progress, until finally my ovaries were ready. Egg retrievals are a surgical procedure, so again (polyp removal being surgery #1), I was put under. We retrieved 18 eggs. 12 of those eggs were mature, and by the next day, 9 of them had fertilized normally. (It is normal for your initial number to go down at each stage.) By day 5, we only had 4 embryos left to freeze, which was a little less than ideal.
An example of one nights worth of medication
We had paid in advance for PGS testing. This is where they can test the embryos to determine whether they are genetically normal or not. It is not 100% accurate, but it is believed to help weed out the abnormal ones, ultimately avoiding miscarriage. And because of our history, we wanted to do everything possible to avoid another miscarriage. This is NOT covered under insurance. With only 4 embryos, we risked losing them all in testing, and having to start all over, including paying for PGS AGAIN the second time around. So we chose to take a month off to let my body recover, and gear up for a second retrieval. That way embryos from BOTH retrievals could be tested together. This was the best decision we made, as retrieval number #2 went much better. This time we retrieved 19 eggs, 17 were mature, and 14 had fertilized normally the next day. By the end of the week, we were able to send TEN embryos, along with our previous four, for testing. We came back with 6 normal female embryos, and 2 normal male embryos. (PGS also determines gender, which is just a little side bonus.)
We decided to transfer 2 female embryos. Transferring two obviously comes with a risk of twins, but it also gives you a slightly better chance that at least one of them will stick. And at the price we were paying, we wanted to do everything possible to achieve success the first time around. And after talking to just about everyone I know who has twins (thank you all, you know who you are), I felt comfortable moving forward with two.
Leading up to transfer meant more daily injections (which continued through week 10 of pregnancy), but these had to be administered in the butt, which meant my husband had to do it. He loved it. (This is sarcasm. He was a trooper throughout this entire process, but he thoroughly disliked this part of the experience.) Here is the super long needle, and Tim, not wanting to do the injection.
The transfer itself was super fast and easy. So fast, that I literally missed it. I was watching the screen and totally not looking in the right place. Thankfully, Tim (my husband) got it on video. Thank you to the IVF momma who told me to film it. It felt surreal and hard to believe that anything significant could actually be happening inside me, so I watched that video repeatedly in the following days for reassurance. Here is a clip of the video below.
Watch for the white streak going from left to right across the screen
Just five days after my transfer, I peed on a stick and got a faint positive. I tested every day thereafter, and watched the positive line become darker. Two weeks after my transfer, I took a blood test which confirmed my pregnancy, and a week after that, I took another blood test to confirm it was progressing appropriately. A week after that, I went in for my first ultrasound, where we were able to see that one little girl stuck around. Here is the video below.
And now at almost 13 weeks along, here we are. IVF success!
I know that a lot of women who suffer from infertility, or women who don't want children at all, find that asking a woman about her plans to have children are extremely rude or insensitive. I am not one of these women. So if you are one of the many people who have asked me in the last few years if I plan to have more, or when I plan to have more and you are now feeling a little badly about it... DON'T. I think it's a totally valid question to ask, especially of someone who already has one child, and especially of someone who does what I do. Sure, the answer can be extremely personal, but it doesn't have to be. I am not offended by it at all, and chances are my answer sounded something like, "That's the plan!" or, "I hope so!" If you happened to ask me while I was actually pregnant, I probably said, "Soon, I hope!"
And by the way, if I ever cancelled a session on you because I was "sick," now you know why.. in reality, it was during one of those three miscarriages. Because in my few years of being a photographer, I have not once cancelled on anyone due to being sick. And if I was late in responding or getting your photos back to you and blamed it on being sick, you now know the real reason. I was either miscarrying, or suffering from "morning" sickness. I've now been pregnant five times, and I can tell you that for me, the sickness is not just limited to the morning, it's all day misery. With my son, it lasted the entire pregnancy. I'm hoping the same doesn't happen for this one. But either way, I am thankful to have gotten to this point.
But what I am most thankful for, is my son. While sure, my experience was painful, I suffered far less and for far less time than so many other women out there. And the biggest thing that separates me from those out there dealing with primary infertility, is the fact that at the end of every difficult day, I was a still a mother. I had my son in my arms, no matter what was to happen next. While I am surely biased, I believe he is the sweetest child ever. During my third miscarriage, he just thought I was sick. He took care of me, loved me, and said things like, "I'm sorry you're sick, momma." He continues to do this for me now while I suffer from pregnancy sickness, but more than anything, he is excited to finally have a baby of his own. By now, all his babyhood friends have become siblings once, twice, even three times over. Every day he kisses my belly and says, "I love you baby with all my heart!" Sometimes I look at him and can't imagine how I could possibly love him any more than I already do, but at the same time, I know that when I see him love his baby sister, I will.
While this baby girl will certainly be our "rainbow after the storm," Stratton has been and will always be the sunshine that helped us through.
