The First

Because I digressed a bit in the last post, I’ll continue my story here.

After consulting with our fertility doctor, we decided to try an IUI. IUI stands for intrauterine insemination. A nice fancy term for artificial insemination. After receiving the sperm sample, the clinic washes it to help eliminate the poor swimmers and produce a good concentrated sample. It is then injected into the uterus. Like putting Micheal Phelps into a kiddie pool. We want the fastest going the shortest distance. It’s a decent option for women with PCOS and no male factor infertility (MFI). Less evasive, less expensive.

We did our first one in July 2014. It failed. I took this failure the hardest. Perhaps, I was more hopefully than I acknowledged. Perhaps, it was waiting 11 years for good news. I recall getting the negative pregnancy test that morning and felt like I was punched in the gut. The melancholy hovered about me the whole day.

August 2014. Second IUI. Negative.

October 11, 2014. Third IUI. Two week wait. I refuse to test until I’m a least a week late. So a that two weeks became more like three and a half weeks. November 5^th: I think I’ve given it enough time. My cycle hadn’t started. My boobs were aching. So, I tested. And there it was in digital form –-- “Pregnant.” Without the ‘not.” It was positive!!!!!!!! BFP! My first one ever. Little butterflies hatched in my stomach. My mind commenced spinning. Blood test confirmed it. I was pregnant. J² and I were finally going to be parents.

Two days later, I had an ultrasound. The baby was where it should be. We could see the gestational sac and yolk sac. Ten days after that we saw the tiniest heartbeat ever. I was amazed. The flicker of a heart in a white blob on the screen. I loved that blob. At this point we “graduated” to my regular OB. I must say that it’s somewhat humorous when I went in to schedule an appointment and they had to do a pregnancy test. Then the nurse comes into the room and say you’re pregnant. Yeah, all those records that were transfer to your office should have told you. Perhaps, OB offices need a protocol for when fertility patients are transferred. Anyway, I had my first follow-up with my doctor’s nurse practitioner. Everything is progressing nicely. Scheduled out the rest of my appointments for the whole pregnancy.

Tired and nauseous, I managed to make a couple pies for Thanksgiving that year. Did I mention I was tired? My brain was becoming numb. And I ruined the pumpkin pie. I forgot the sugar. Who needs that in a pie? J² said he liked it. But that’s because he’s not much of a sweets person. So don’t trust his word on that. The lemon pie was alright.

Over a week later, on a Sunday night, I started bleeding lightly. I spotted in the first few weeks, but it a stopped. I was trying not to panic. The next morning, I was still bleeding. It hadn’t increased in flow that I noticed. I called the my doctor’s office and they had me come in. We ended up sitting in the exam room for over an hour because the doctor had to deliver a baby. So we sat anxiously.

Finally, the doctor returned and I had a rock dropped on my chest. I was supposed to be eight weeks along. The ultrasound showed no heartbeat. After such a long time……..

She gave us the usual spiel that it wasn’t my fault. Most likely a chromosome issue. We are handed some papers that explain all about early pregnancy loss. The doctor went over our options if I don’t miscarry naturally. She mentions it can take up to a week or so. We set up to go back the following week. And we left. . . defeated.

During this time, I kept telling my work I was coming in, so as we left the hospital I told J² to take me there. He suggested we just go home, but I was adamant that I go to work. Then I would take the time off I needed to get through this. I think part of my brain didn’t want to handle what was happening. I had broad expectations of what was to come, but not any true understanding. I went to work, while J² played racquetball waiting for me. My job is at a recreation center. Midway through my main task I started cramping. At first, I could ignore it. Then quickly, the cramping intensifies to the point where I’m almost in tears. I tell my manager that I have to leave. I make it as far as the nearest restroom. It is there, at work, that I fully miscarry my first baby. I managed to keep myself together in order to get J² and go home.

I showered, curled up on the couch, and slept. And I just laid there. I struggled through a phone call with my mom. In between making sure I was okay, J² painted the utility room. Focusing on a project helps him deal with his emotions. He already feels helpless enough because he can’t make me better.

As much I mourned my loss, I also began to focus on moving forward. I had to. The biggest question was could I get pregnant again. I couldn’t give up, yet.