Now, I'm no spring chicken, as they say. But when we started this journey, I was just shy of being 34. Not quite to the point of being called that lovely phrase, "geriatric maternal age" (35), or the term which doctors use more often now, "advanced maternal age", neither of which is particularly pleasant. But hey, I guess I was close enough.
In the beginning, I knew the basics of baby making. Those two long, tough years, however, led me to become something of an expert I believe. I now know more than I ever thought I'd like to about the female (and male) reproductive systems. Those years also left me with an addiction I never thought possible. We'll get to that a bit later.
At first it was all just relaxed, hey it'll happen, it's bound to take a couple tries, right? It became concerning after some time, but after a while it became a desperation. And every time we failed, that was another month wasted. Another month we had to try again. Another kick to an already sore spot.
I got an app on my phone, to track my periods, and see when I ovulate. Apparently cycle day 14 is the average when most women ovulate. And because all I was tracking was my period, that's the day my app picked for me too. It was wrong. I didn't know this until I bought some ovulation tests. And then i did some more research, and learned about temping (when you take your temperature every morning when you first wake up, with a special thermometer - because your body temperature changes at certain points in your cycle) so I started doing that too. Turns out, I was ovulating on day 10 or 11, not 14. Which made sense, as my cycles were also pretty short.
A couple more months go by, and I'm still not pregnant. I do more research. I find out about certain vitamins and things that can help with fertility. So I go to Amazon once more and order what amounts to enough vitamins and herbs to stock a small drug store. I take them.
A few months go by. Nothing is working. I give up the vitamin habit. I stop taking my morning temperature. I start blaming Wayne. Because obviously I've done everything I can, and it hasn't worked. But in my mind I'm still questioning if it's me, not him. Could the iud I had for 8 and a half years have ruined me entirely. Could I be too old. Could I be too overweight. Is it because I don't live the healthiest I could. The answer to all of those is probably yes, but I felt defeated. But we continued on.
Now the fun part. The addiction. I became addicted. To peeing on sticks. I can't tell you how many pregnancy tests I took in all this time. In the beginning it wasn't too much of a problem. But once the desperation set in, I was a maniac. It got to where I couldn't continue to pay $12 for 2 tests, as the costs would be astronomical. So I took to the internet, yet again. DID YOU KNOW, you can buy pregnancy test sticks in bulk? I'm talking like 50 for $20. Cause, yeah, you can. Amazon feeds my addiction. They're not in pretty plastic shells and you have to pee in a cup to dip them. But they work, and are actually fairly sensitive.
After about 10 months, I finally got that second line. Feb 20, 2015. We were elated. We told people. We picked out names. We started a registry. It was a happy time.
I had insurance issues which did not get straightened out until April sometime. I wasn't able to get to the doctor for an actual check up until May 11. The day after Mother's Day. I was a couple days shy of 15 weeks. It was the worst appointment I have ever had. The baby had stopped growing at 6 weeks. I was given options, wait to miscarry naturally, take some pills and force the miscarriage, or get a D&C. I didn't want surgery, and obviously my body wasn't letting go as it continued to carry this baby for over 8 weeks after it was lost, so I opted for the pills. I was prescribed Cytotec, and sent on my way with instructions. I won't go into details of that, but the first dose did not work properly, so I did it a second time. The second time seemed to have worked.
My birthday is May 16. I spent my 35th birthday mourning the loss of a baby I never met, or even felt. None of that mattered. That baby was already imprinted on our hearts, and it was a great loss.
I'm not a spiritual person. There are times I wish I was, so I could have something to take comfort in. This was one of those times. But alas, there was no comfort.
We were told that with early losses like this, it's likely the baby just had something wrong with it, it hadn't developed properly, so mother nature does her thing. "It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong." Ok, keep telling me that. Because it was my body, obviously it was my fault. (It wasn't, though.)
When I went for my follow up, and got some ultrasounds done, it was discovered that there was STILL tissue left behind, so I ended up having to get the surgery anyway. That was on June 2. It was such a rough couple of weeks. After the surgery I was just relieved that it was all over. It had turned into quite a nightmare.
Within a few weeks my cycle had returned, and we went back to trying (it was okayed by my doctor). By August I was temping again, and raiding my vitamin stores. This went on for a while. Eventually though, I quit again.
During this time, after the loss, it seemed like everybody i knew was getting pregnant. I wanted to be happy for them. I truly did. But I was just still so overcome with grief, and the frustration of still not getting pregnant myself, I couldn't be. I pretended to be. I hid the tears. It was a really tough time.
The girls who were pregnant at the same time as me started having their babies. I tried to be happy for them, but inside I was just incredibly sad and jealous. My baby's due date was November 4, 2015. We weren't even able to find out if it was a boy or a girl. I still cry over this little one sometimes. It's easier now, of course, but I still wonder all the what ifs.
I had my annual exam at my OB in March. We talked about my frustrations and failures at getting pregnant. My incessant need to take 10-20 pregnancy tests every month. The fact that for a couple months I'd gotten some very very faint positives, but still always went on to get my period shortly after. She sent me for some bloodwork.
Good Friday she called me to go over the results. I was at work and unable to answer her call and by the time I was able to call back, the office was closed. That weekend was a long one. Monday I finally got the results. I have hypothyroidism, and needed to see an endocrinologist. I don't know why, but this information broke me. I cried. A lot. Hypothyroidism is very managable. Some people I am very close to have it. I knew how easy it is to manage. But I still broke down. And did more research. Turns out hypothyroidism can cause fertility issues.
I got in to see the endo mid April. I was prescribed levothyroxin. I started taking it. I also started temping and ovulation tests again. As time went on, I marveled at how the medication changed my cycle. I started ovulating later, and my cycles got longer. Within 3 months, I was pregnant. We found out on July 28, 2016.
This time though, we were much more cautious. We only told a handful of people at first. Those first 8 weeks (5 really, cause I found out when I was "3" weeks - which was quite early, on account of my addiction) were long and worrisome. Then at my 8 week appointment, we heard that glorious sound. A heartbeat. It was like a weight had lifted and we were able to get excited. We still worried some, of course, but by the time we had the 12 week scan, and everything was still perfect, we were able to breathe fully.
The Monday after Thanksgiving we had the anatomy scan. We went in, me wanting a girl but thinking it was a boy, and Wayne 100% team blue. Well, you know how that turned out. They checked at like the next 3 ultrasounds and sure enough, she was still a girl. And everything was still perfect.
At 28 weeks I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Which was an awful pain having to watch what I ate so closely, and having to prick my fingers 3x a day. But it got us weekly ultrasounds near the end, which was quite nice to be honest. Being able to see her weekly and know everything was ok was so reassuring.
At the last ultrasound they said my amniotic fluid was low and I had to be induced. Which was odd, considering one of the worries with GD is too much fluid. Another is high birth weight, which again, she was tiny, only 6lb 7oz. So I can't help but wonder if I really had GD after all. Or if I just controlled it that well. My sugar levels were always perfect.
We never saw anything on the ultrasounds to suggest a nevus. In hindsight, we think we can. But honestly there's so much goop in there, who knows what we are actually seeing. I am fairly surprised they never picked up on the hair though. When she was born, there was so much! It was so long too. I made jokes that she had more hair on her face than she did on her head. Terrible, I know. But it was true.
I don't know if there are any more babies in our future. We certainly aren't trying anyway. If it happens, cool. If not, that's ok too. I cannot commit myself to the stress of trying again though. I'm also getting old. I'll be 38 next month. Aside from the fact that at my age it's harder to get pregnant, I also don't want to be having babies in my 40s. Nothing against those that do. I just never even really wanted to have any in my 30s. But here I am. The only reason that I'm even open to another one is so Emma can have a sibling that she's close to.
