One year ago

Last year on June 20 marks the first time our fertility treatment took an encouraging turn: it was our third transfer and the first time we got a positive beta. We were ecstatic yet cautious because beta was only in low sixties. We believed it would work because it was the first that stuck. Unfortunately, it was the first of three miscarriages. The second beta a few days later showed that the numbers had gone down and instead of a pregnancy we spent the summer doing injections for two consecutive ERA biopsies.

In November, we were encouraged again with our fourth transfer when our beta came back in the four hundreds. Wow! We continued to hope as the numbers more than doubled at second beta. Then the rug got pulled from under us when I started spotting and the third beta came back in the 20s. It was discouraging and disheartening. I'm not sure how we went on but somehow we got through it as we processed our feelings through a second chemical pregnancy.

Then we started IVF 5, followed by FET 5. This time it really stuck. We had great numbers. Numbers doubled and got so high we were told to schedule an OB ultrasound. We got past the first ultrasound with no issues at all. We were nearly 8 weeks along and thought this was actually the real thing. And then there was the second ultrasound. The day started with excitement and ended in utter devastation. The following week included a D&C to remove the "product of conception" and four weeks after that brings us to present day.

One year.  It's been a rough year. A really, really tough year.

Each try brings us a little bit further along only to end in disappointment. It's really hard to keep going through the bogus successes. Each time we get good news I worry about when the disaster will strike. It's dreadful.

Pregnancy loss is truly horrible. Part of it is wanting something so badly, and admitting that you want it by pursuing it with all your heart, body, soul, and bank account, and then failing. Part of it is not only the failure of what is (treatment) but also the failure of what could have been (child). Part of it is feeling older every time there's a failure and feeling the biological clock ticking, no matter what age you're at. Part of it is the mental anguish of putting faith and hope in a system that has really sucky odds, with more losses than wins.

I'm learning that it takes more than just moving on logically and physically to be able to try again. I learned that I need to be able to visualize us being successful in order to be able to start up everything again. Each step individually is no big deal: coordinating the meds; figuring out insurance and payments; starting injections; going in daily for monitoring; the daily wait for results; egg retrieval anxiety and recovery; embryo progress reports; genetic test results. The big deal is all of it together all at once in the time span of only a few weeks while being hormonal and emotionally invested. It's more than wanting to build a family; it's also wanting to not feel stuck in an awful chapter of your life playing in repeat.

I  was always led to believe that I am capable of achieving anything I put my mind to, but that doesn't account for being unable to solve problems beyond our control. I'm not ready to stop trying but I'm also not ready to start again. Beside for worrying about when my period comes so we can try again, I worry that my body will be ready before my mind. I'm not going to rush it though. I know going in that there's a very real chance the next try may also not succeed and I need to be ok enough to handle that.

I used to completely believe that if we try enough times we will be successful. But with every loss I grow more cynical. I fear that one day I won't be able to believe that anymore. I stress about being able to continue affording treatment. I dread what this is doing to my body long term. I panic when I think about everything we've gone through and second guess every decision that led to this point. I'm scared that we may one day have to face a reality that it's just not working. It's what keeps me up at night. It's what makes me panic. It's what keeps me from believing that there's a path to building our family because today I just can't see it.