Infertility Memoir: ‘I just couldn’t help but feel hopeful’
This is Chapter 6 in the Infertility Memoir. Read previous chapters here.
With my emotions heightened from my egg retrieval and my ovaries taking over my abdomen, I was wheeled from the ER to my room upstairs while my husband was escorted out of the hospital. At that moment I was in excruciating pain and scared that I was having to do another medical thing without my husband. I knew it was to protect the most vulnerable patients, but I didn’t want to be alone in those moments.
Once I was settled in upstairs the doctor came in. I’m fairly confident that my heart rate and blood pressure must have gone through the roof when I saw the doctor who had told me months before that my baby’s heart had stopped walking into my room. Fears of worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. She did her best to reassure me that she would get to the bottom of this and that she was working with my fertility doctor closely. When I say closely, I mean my doctor was harassing the hospital staff because she wasn’t allowed to come in and evaluate me herself. I had never – and still have never – had a doctor so invested in my care.
In the end, I was diagnosed with Ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS) as a result of the IVF egg retrieval I did two days prior. After almost 24 hours in the hospital, I was released and finally able to go home and rest with my husband by my side. My clinic monitored me closely while we waited to see how many of our eggs would fertilize and develop. During one of my follow-up appointments, our doctor told me that even if our PGT-A testing came back in time we would not be doing a transfer so my body could rest for a full menstrual cycle. I was crushed, and angry that once again my body couldn’t work right. It seemed like every time we cleared a hurdle and caught a glimpse of the finish line a new taller hurdle appeared.
Thankfully, we had events in late August and early September to keep our minds distracted. We weren’t the only ones who had big plans altered by the pandemic, my sister-in-law was planning her wedding. Like many other couples, they were forced to cancel their big wedding, and elected to have a small intimate wedding on their original date at an Airbnb. While it was a welcomed distraction and a trip to Seattle, it also came with the usual slew of questions. We kindly deflected the questions, saying we would update everyone when we felt it was right, and that the focus of this week was on my sister-in-law. Despite dodging questions from some family members it was a needed mental and physical break from family building and fertility treatments, I didn’t need medication alarms or needles. It was good for my soul.
After that trip, we jumped right back into things because the results from our PGT-A testing finally came in. Out of 23 retrieved eggs, six made it to the development stage to be biopsied and tested, and of those only four were genetically normal. We were a little disappointed with that number, but our doctor explained that it was a really good amount of embryos to have. The plan was that once my next period started we would start the transfer process.
While we waited, my husband’s sequence number for his promotion came up. It was perfect timing, and helping with the planning details for the ceremony was just the distraction I needed. I needed for us to have a win, something to celebrate, while we were in limbo. On the day of his promotion ceremony, I knew what to expect, but what transpired was something that neither one of us will ever forget and demonstrates just how good the Army Reserve has been to our family.
The ceremony started just as you would expect for a middle-of-the-week ceremony at a Reserve Center. All of the full-time staff and soldiers were gathered in the gym where tables and chairs were set up, with a podium up front. Everything was going according to plan, I didn’t mess up anything, and then my husband went to say a few remarks. I expected him to thank me for my support and the usual things, but what I witnessed was something far more beautiful and meaningful than I could have ever imagined. My husband got up there and thanked not only me for my support, but everyone for the grace, support, flexibility, and concern for us as a family since we arrived there. Yes, he talked about our losses, our struggles, and how hard this journey had been for us, and how they never added to the burdens we were already carrying. He said all of this with tears in his eyes, demonstrating not only the emotional toll of the this journey, but how grateful we were for that support.
In the moments following, my husband immediately expressed embarrassment for getting all emotional and crying. I remember embracing him with tears in my eyes, with nothing but pride for his vulnerability, and leadership he displayed. Those moments opened the door for others to open up about similar experiences. It erased years of shame, stigma, and stereotypes. It demonstrated the “People First” vision that the Chief of the Army Reserve at that time had for the Army Reserve, and how our unit leadership took that to heart through measurable actions for my family.
Soon after my husband’s promotion, we started the medications as we prepared for the second half of the IVF process, the embryo transfer. Just like with the egg retrieval we had to increase precautions to protect us from getting COVID because if I tested positive the transfer would be canceled. We still managed to get in some fall fun; October is when we first started dating way back in 2009 so it’s a favorite time of year for us. Going to the pumpkin patch and soaking up some quality, socially distanced fun really helped us prepare for this next step. We had put all of our eggs into one basket and we anxiously hoped that this would give us our miracle.
On October 16, 2020, we drove to downtown Chicago for our embryo transfer. We were nervous, hopeful, but I was again uneasy about having to go into the clinic alone for the procedure without my husband at my side. Dressed in our pineapple facemasks for luck we headed from the car to the clinic, and said our goodbyes as I entered, alone. It’s not like I ever envisioned having, or should I say making a baby in this way, but it felt dreamlike walking into one of the biggest moments of our lives without both people that were trying to make this baby. Just like before I had to tell myself that I could do hard things, and wait for the vallium I was given for the transfer to kick in.
The doctor, nurses, and all the staff did an amazing job turning an awkward moment into something really memorable. They kept the mood as light as they could, allowed me to take photos to send to my husband so he could feel like he was present, and eased my anxiety about the entire process. It was a quick and fairly painless procedure, after which I had to lay down for about 10 minutes, before I was released with more instructions for medications.
The worst part about doing IVF besides the two-week wait, is the insanely large needles used for the progesterone in oil (PIO) medication that is injected into the upper outer quadrant of your rear end. My sweet husband, who had given me all of my shots during our previous treatments nearly passed out the first time he had to administer the PIO. It’s an oil so it is thick and it goes in really slow, and it’s in a giant needle. For me, it leaves large knots under my skin, bruises, and hurts that sleeping on my side hurts. Knowing that low progesterone could be one of many factors that kept my body from being able to sustain a pregnancy gave me the strength to endure these daily shots.
Then we waited. It felt like the longest wait, even though we waited months during the lockdowns not knowing when we would even be able to do IVF. On October 25, 2020, I couldn’t wait anymore. I read that around 10 days after the transfer some women can get a positive test, and I just couldn’t help but feel hopeful. I felt pregnant, and I just couldn’t wait for my official bloodwork the next day at my clinic. I couldn’t believe my eyes — it worked, we were pregnant.
Of course, the bloodwork the following day confirmed my pregnancy, and we were so hopeful that IVF was the answer to our prayers. We went through all the same monitoring procedures as before, and when we reached our graduation appointment our doctor shared with us that our due date was July 4. She thought that was so perfect for us as a military family. We were so happy, hopeful, and relieved to have made it this far. Our baby was growing, had a good strong heartbeat, and my levels were right were they should be. But still in the back of my mind was this unshakable fear that something would go wrong.