It's been about a month and a half since our IVF failed, and I decided our blog needed the aftermath of IVF. Not a lot of people talk about what happens afterward, not like it's all that exciting, but it is insightful and I sure would have liked to know before getting into it what I would be like if it failed.
First off, you should know that fertility clinics are obscenely overly optimistic. It's part of their treatment to fill the patient with as much positivity as humanly possible without actually going so far as to tell you that you have a 100% chance of getting pregnant from the procedure. The whole time, my nurses and doctor were saying things like "WHEN you go in for your first ultrasound" and "Take this drug all the way until your 12th week of pregnancy" as if I were already expecting. The point of all this is not to misguide you or anything, they just want to keep you feeling positive because they know that most infertile couples are struggling with overwhelming negativity and stress, and fertility doctors know stress is arguably the number 1 killer of cells (and embryos)!
But, the problem I have with it is very difficult for me because while I understand it and agree with their methods (I certainly wouldn't like to be told constantly that it might not work!), I feel that it led me to the deepest depression I had yet to experience. When I was told that I was not pregnant over the phone that day, I completely lost whatever was left of my sanity. I had been nervously awaiting that phone call for a day and a half by the time they finally called, and was listening to music on my bed with the phone on my chest. I remember the song I was listening to when I got the call, ("Someday" by Rob Thomas) and still today can't listen to it without feeling like bursting into tears. The irony is in the lyrics. You'll have to listen to it if you don't know what I mean.
For people that ever knew me before all this infertility stuff, I never was one to cry. But on July 20th, I did nothing but cry for something like 5 hours straight, eventually giving myself a migraine so that by the time my husband came home from work, heartbroken, distraught and tearful, I couldn't even console him. I was paralyzed, and all I could do was lay there while he brought me cold water and Tylenol. Then we just laid there together for what seemed like forever, quietly, and finally slept.
I didn't want to have contact with anyone after that. I had texted my best friend, as promised, called my mom and my husband at work, but that was it. I couldn't talk to anyone else for days. I stayed in the house and did absolutely next to nothing. Then my period came, right on time, just as my nurse had forewarned. A perfect 30 days from the last period brought on by the pill just before my IVF cycle. It was horrible. Just know that after a month of extreme hormonal injections, your failed IVF cycle period is going to be hell. And I'm not just talking cramps. Be prepared for a flood. I'll say no more.
It's been well over a month since that period now, and I am right back to my old self again. By old self, I mean my pre-drug self. The one that breaks out like a teenager, grows hair in all the wrong places and waits 45-60 days for her next period. It still hasn't come. We read and heard a lot about "post-IVF sex" and how many couples are successful in conceiving at that time, for some reason, so we thought what the heck... might as well make use of an opportunity. It's funny how I am now exactly 10 days late, judging from my last period, and the idea that I might be pregnant has yet to enter my mind. I don't have to pee on a stick anymore. I just know I'm not. I mean, if stress kills, I'm more than positive a post-IVF pregnancy is not in the works here.
I've also since read that it's a miracle that anyone gets pregnant by IVF during her first cycle. It's so stressful and nerve-wracking, it's a wonder SHE survives it, let alone her embryos! Our doctor had given us a 70% chance of success during our first cycle, but we fell in the 30%, go figure. Now that we're IVF veterans, the very fact that we have a failed cycle under our belt knocks our chances down to 60%. Throw in the fact that if we did a 2nd cycle, we would use frozen embryos, and that number drops down even further to 50%! Now, given all the 50% chances in my life, like the fact that whenever I plug something into an outlet, I always try it the wrong way first, or I flip a coin and it lands the opposite side that I called, I'm pretty darn certain that if I did something so grand as a frozen embryo cycle, I would come out the negative side of 50%.
Once my post-IVF period was over, we finally got to have a phone consultation with our fertility doctor about our failed cycle. (I'm pretty convinced they plan it that way so they don't have to deal with a psychopath infertile woman with PMS--clever, I must say). He basically just walked us through our cycle and gave us a recap on what he did and would do again. He told us he was very surprised it hadn't worked, and it's always heartbreaking when that happens for no apparent reason--which was in our case. There was no obvious reason that this pregnancy attempt failed. Everything looked great with my blood-work and all the ultrasounds, etc. There was just no pregnancy. He called it "embryonic arrest". I imagined my embryos in little handcuffs being escorted quite violently from my uterus and wondered how that was possible since they hadn't even developed hands at that point. --Oh, and I should add that you'll probably develop an even worse sense of humor than you had just to keep yourself alive during all this.
Anyway, our doctor said he would very much like to try again and felt that we had a good chance. Embryonic arrest is just something they say happens when the embryos aren't in the best of genetic quality, and said that half of all embryos are genetically inadequate and will not implant. I was surprised by this information. It was news to me! I hadn't realized before that the chances were that low for embryo implantation. I nievely thought that once you had embryos, all of them could implant and become babies--not 50% of them. But, there it is, folks. The ugly truth. That made us question why we had only put 2 embryos in. I mean, given the fact that we only have a 50% chance now and that the embryos also only have a 50% chance of implanting (okay, maybe these odds are combined to create the overall success, but this is how my brain works), why would you only want to put a measily 2 embryos in?!?!!? My husband argued for at least 3, and eventually won. They just want us to be aware that while the chances are set at 50%, it is still likely that all 3 could implant and that we could potentally run the risk of having triplets. We'll take those chances, we said. In our minds, after learning the slim chances of success, triplets are highly unlikely to occur. What we are pulling for here is the chance at ONE of them surviving! And with the extreme cost of IVF, we think we should be a little more aggressive with fighting our odds.
Even though we are severely depressed and the thought of a 2nd IVF cycle is less than appealing, we are still giving it some thought. We had another consultation with our IVF nurse coordinator and the financial department, and they assured us that we have a much easier procedure ahead of us with a frozen embryo transfer. First, you only have to be in the vacinity of the clinic about 3 days, since all it entails is an ultrasound, infusion and embryo transfer. Second, it's about 1/4 the cost of a fresh cycle, costing roughly $3k instead of $10k. You only have to buy medication to prepare your uterus for implantation and we were told that the ovulation stimulating drugs are what costs the most in IVF medication, so since we already have the embryos, we would only have to pay about $1k on prescriptions instead of the $3-$4k of a fresh cycle. So, add in travel costs and we only have to pay roughly $5k. Another loan could easily cover that, and my parents are biting at the bit to help us aquire that loan, so that isn't even the problem...
The problem is us. We are still getting over our last failed cycle and don't know whether or not we can handle yet another potentially likely negative result phone call. I think I'm getting better, but then something happens that chucks me back into the depths of despair and I can't see the light anymore. I don't trust my emotional stability, and other people around us just plain won't stop having babies!!!! It's making us blooming crazy! I understand that they're just proud of their offspring. Yes, we get it! Trust us, we understand probably better than anyone how joyful a newborn baby could be! Just think about the level of that pride for a moment and then try to imagine the grief you would feel if you never got to feel it. You know full well that it exsists, because it is your heart's greatest desire, yet no matter what you do you cannot experience it personally. Instead, everyone else around you gets to, and what's worse is that they seem to think that sharing this with you is going to make you feel BETTER?!?!!?!?!???
Honestly, world, seeing your pregnant belly or a picture of your precious child's shinning smile does not heal my barren soul! Rather, it makes me want to commit suicide! It has nothing to do with your child, or the fact that you think we are now hateful female dogs. It stems merely from the fact that when someone slaps something in your face that you cannot have and want very much, it HURTS. My friend is a single girl in her 30's right now and rivals over the fact that I am married and she is not. She shocked me into reality oneday when she finally pointed out how annoying it was to hang out with me and my husband and watch us be all lovey-dovey and couple cute. It made her want to puke! I hardly thought that Mike & I were lovey-dovey and couple cute, but apparently in my friend's eyes we are. While shocked, I immediately understood her meaning. You don't have to intentinally brag about something for it to be noticed by the less fortunate. In my case, just watching you go about your blessed life without a second thought is enough to make me want to go find my leftover prescription drugs and a big glass of water.
Infertility is hard. It is even harder when you have spent every last cent of your life savings on a single procedure of IVF that you thought would be the key to ending it forever, only to discover that it too failed. Our fertility doctor recommended we set up a session with the complimentary therapist--a free service provided by the clinic. We haven't yet, but it's part of our eventuality plan. Neither of us have much get-up and go nowdays. It's a wonder the floor gets vacuumed once in a while. I'm really depressed. The stupidest little things tick me off. I'm like a bomb constantly waiting for that last spark to set me off and blow me up into a bazillion pieces, taking out anyone in my vacinity. And I'm not looking forward to a therapist telling me that it's all me, and that I need to take control and turn my life around. I already have a mom, you know. And I just don't think it's that simple. Don't get me wrong, I WANT to see a therapist, actually! I just think it's going to be a long process, and I don't ever expect to be entirely healed from this--even if I have children one day, finally. In fact, I hope I won't ever be healed completely because the lessons I've learned on this infertility journey are too deep to forget. It's what makes me so sad when other people experience so much blessed joy in their lives and not enough grief. If you don't experience hardship, how can you ever grow? How can you ever learn how to turn pure hatrid into feelings of true compassion and humility? Being in tough situations changes you in ways you could not ever forsee. Why do you think Disney movies always kill off one or both of the main character's parents??? Awareness is a gift from grief, and I would never wish it didn't happen to me. What I wish is that everyone had to experience it, and that everyone was aware.
Who knows what's going to happen now. All I know is that we're trudging on. One way or another, we are determind to be parents. What lucky children they will be, too. They will always know how hard we worked to have them, and their little minds will be filled with awareness!
