Over before it began: PUPO no more

At the end of February we had our sixth transfer. As we'd agreed, my husband and I didn't tell anyone. True to our pact, I didn't tell family, friends, or post anything about it. I did write and I have about 12 unpublished drafts about the journey.

It was going well until yesterday evening just after 5:00 pm when I started bleeding. It started with a huge gush of heavy, bright red blood and followed by large clots. There was absolutely no warning at all. Even though it was the first time that has happened, I knew immediately it was the end. I called the after hours emergency line and the nurse said to stay hydrated and come in in the morning. I didn't sleep all night and first thing this morning we went in to the clinic together. They took blood. Then they did an ultrasound. The doctor couldn't see a sac, and for how high my hcg was measuring it should have been showing clearly. It was all but over, we just needed to wait for blood results to confirm that hcg was dropping.

He couldn't explain why this pregnancy failed. He couldn't explain the massive bleed. He couldn't give me any reason for any of it. He wasn't unkind but he also didn't offer any reassurance or hope. Once again we were left alone in the room for me to get dressed and for us to pick up the pieces of our shattered hearts.

When things were going well we couldn't believe it. We didn't talk about it, we didn't plan or dream or think ahead. We were just trying to take it one day at a time; one test at a time. Beta 1 came back at 686 on my birthday. It was a wonderful present. Beta 2 came back at 2738 on Monday, which was four days later and normal doubling time. Then, out of nowhere, on Tuesday 3/13 I started bleeding. It was immediately a lot and it was traumatic. The gory details are in one of the drafts I saved.

I'm not sure yet when I'll post the drafts. I want to but I don't think I'm ready. I felt it was important to preserve the timeline for multiple reasons. Some of the posts are just so full of hope and I don't know if I can read through them in prep for publishing. Maybe I'll just post the raw pieces, if at all.

I think we're done with this clinic. We transferred all our healthy embryos. We've signed forms to discard any nonviable ones that aren't getting transferred. We've given them three years of our lives, countless dollars, and seven tries. They had their chance and they blew it. Our account is clear and there's nothing holding us back from switching. Part of it feels like giving up. Part of it feels like a fresh start without all the baggage and terrible memories of the horrible news we kept getting. I'm not planning to make any major decisions before we have time to process but it helps me feel better to think ahead. I guess I'm not yet ready to give up on trying, as much as part of me wants this nightmare merry-go-round to end.

I got to work on time after dropping my husband off. I said eff it to my healthy eating and had coffee and cookies for breakfast. We're both so sad. We're doing normal things in the hopes that if we pretend everything is normal then the sadness won't wash over and engulf us. As my husband put it when I texted to check in on how he's doing: "mess packaged in pretty wrapper." The call came just after 1 pm. Levels dropped to 1237. It's officially over.

It hasn't really hit me. Maybe because I'm at work, trying to get through the day even though my mind is a million miles away. Maybe it will sink in when I have to tell my family of yet another loss. In the meantime I tear up and quickly regain composure before my face blotches over to the point of no return. My heart is heavy and truly it makes me most sad that my husband is sad. While logically I know it's not my fault because there was nothing in my control to change the outcome, I still can't help feel responsible that it's my body that keeps failing us. I'm the one who is supposed to carry our children, and for some reason my body keeps expelling them before they've had a chance at life. We've yet to see a live heartbeat on one of our transfers.

I know we'll be ok. I know we've been through this before and eventually felt hope again. But it gets harder with each loss. It gets harder with each healthy embryo lost. It gets harder when beta numbers grow stronger only to spontaneously abort without any reason. We've literally tried every single thing we were suggested. It's disheartening. It's depressing. It's discouraging. How much more can we go through? How many more cycles? How many more years? How much more money and heartache before we either succeed or give up?

Today I have no answers. Only sadness.