Approaching a new clinic, and something about hope

Yesterday I emailed one of the local fertility centers which was mentioned somewhere as a good one to go for reproductive immunology issues. They have their first consultation free, which sounds just about right: we are in a tight money spot right now, and I would rather learn in advance what they can offer me, if anything. So I spent two days preparing my medical records and filling their extensive questionnaire, and getting more and more depressed by the minute.

What, realistically, anyone could probably offer me at this point? I honestly have no idea. I tried the anti-inflammatory protocol and failed. I tried Lethrozole and failed. Maybe some new twist on the first one could work. Maybe we could talk about the natural cycle IVF. Maybe it's just a matter of persistence and trying naturally, again and again. And hoping, hoping all the time.

Today, looking at the joyous faces and rainbow flags in the news, I remembered the famous Harvey Milk speech about hope. "You got to give them hope". At least someone didn't hope for nothing.

But me. Honestly, how do I even dare to hope. Me, with my 40th birthday just around the corner, with my shitty tests and 5 miscarriages, with first betas testing lower and lower every time? I know I need to stop obsessing about it, but when my Facebook feed brings new pregnancy announcements almost every day, I just can't. All those people getting their seconds, thirds, and fourths, but why not me? And my compilation of infertility blogs, which I made just few months ago, is full of happy reports, pregnancy complains, and ultrasound pictures. I am happy for everyone at these blogs, and I wish them all the best, I just want to be there myself as well. Hope is such a heavy burden.

Feeling so down

I've been feeling incredibly down for the last few days. I've been testing every morning over the weekend, and the test line was getting paler and paler - until, on Monday, it wasn't visible anymore. I went for betas and spent an hour in a crowded lab waiting for my turn, thinking that I really didn't need to be there, since I already knew the answer. I haven't had breakfast, and might have been looking so miserable, that the technician offered me juice. This never ever happened before. Then she took a needle out too early and had to reinsert it, and I couldn't contain my tears.
The result was 2. My bitch RE didn't even say "I am sorry" (my OB/GYN, on the other hand, emailed me specifically to offer her sympathy). The other Dr. was uncharacteristically grim when I emailed him the news, and suggested we come and see him "sometime". His stupid office scheduled this "sometime" for August, and marked it as a "new infertility appointment". I am going to call to yell at them one of these days.
So, here's what I am dealing with now:
- I am feeling hopeless and helpless and desperate, because, once again, my chance to have a second child has evaporated. The bleeding came on Wednesday, and brought a new wave of grief and frustration.
- I am feeling sad re: death of my MIL, and having thoughts about the inevitability of this horrible end for people I love... everyone of us was someone's beloved baby, kissed and caressed and carried in arms, being read to and cooked for, and then fast forward - and there's no one to do this anymore; and then, this horror, and pain, and suffering, and then a cremation and a void.
- I am feeling alternately the immense comfort of my parents being here with me during this difficult time, and the poignancy of them getting older, frailer, and sadder. I am feeling guilty for not being able to cheer them up, and my heart breaks when I think that they would be leaving soon, and I don't know when I am going to see them again.
- My husband would be out of town for another week, and I miss him. Part of this time we would be alone with a kid, and this is going to be the hardest time - with all my grief and all bottled up tears.
- I am feeling like time just seeps through; my kid is having a graduation party this week, and this wonderfully safe cocoon her preschool provided would not be available anymore. With everything we've been going through the last two years she attended this place, it slowly became, in my mind, the embodiment of safety, the only constant place in her life. More constant than even her home, and safe from its pervasive sadness.
- I am feeling a horrible anxiety due to some health concerns; in the next couple of weeks I will have to face them and schedule some appointments. I am just so scared. I think somewhere in my heart of hearts I have this crazy idea that being pregnant is a miracle shield that keeps all the health issues at bay. I know it's not the case, of course, I am not stupid. It's just that I don't want to be thinking about tests and doctors if they are not related to be being pregnant - but I have to, and this makes me cry.
...And then I was folding the small girl clothes, new with tags, that someone in our household didn't get around to wearing. I was folding them to send to her younger cousin, and my heart was breaking again. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Introduction

It feels a bit like throwing a bottle into the ocean, but anyway.

I am 39. I am a mother to a wonderful girl who just turned four. Last year, we decided our kid needs a sibling - to help her deal with parents when they get old and crazy, and anyway, we always wanted at least two kids and a loud, crazy, chaotic house. And that's where it all started.

May 2013: Got pregnant on our first try, went for an ultrasound, and there was an empty sack, too small for 6th week. Missed miscarriage. I was shocked beyond belief. I didn't think things like this could happen to me. I carried an ultrasound picture, the one with an empty sack, with me for months. I don't know why they gave it to me.

September 2013: Got pregnant on our second try, while on vacation. I always wanted to conceive on vacation. I was so hopeful that I even took a picture of the house where it happened, just in case. I was pregnant long enough to get to prenatal appointment, where a well-meaning but inept nurse practitioner told us there was a heartbeat. I wasn't convinced. I remembered how it looked during my first and only successful pregnancy - so much more pronounced and clear. But I made myself believe her, and I received yet another ultrasound picture.

Then I had spotting and came for another ultrasound. The baby was no more.

This miscarriage was longer, two and a half month of hell. This time it wasn't shock, it was despair: I thought before that my first miscarriage was a glitch. Not anymore.

February 2014: Went to see RE, who ran a panel of tests and concluded that I need to take thyroid medications and receive progesterone when get pregnant. Have to say - I hated thyroid medications. I used to be a reasonably healthy person and never before had to take pills every day.

April 2014: Pregnant again, for the whole of two weeks. Endometrin (hated it) and regular beta checks, all the way trying not to get too attached. (I failed). HCG started going down pretty soon, and I never got to even have an ultrasound. RE's explanation of what happened, basically: you are old and your eggs are crap.

June 2014: Went for a second opinion to a well-respected Dr. His conclusion: the reason for what had happened is immune, we need to fight inflammation in my uterus (translation: it's not my eggs, it's my uterus that's crap). He prescribed a ton of anti-inflammatory supplements and Doxycycline for three month, and then try to get pregnant again. These were long three month. I struggled with drugs schedule for a while, but got a hand of it eventually.

October 2014: Got green light to start trying, and progesterone after ovulation. Got implantation bleeding, had positive pregnancy test and betas of 24 - just to discover in two days that it's another no-go and HCG is not rising properly. My personal record two-day pregnancy. I told myself quite firmly that it's better that way, cut your losses early and all that.

Yeah, right.

I was incredibly angry.

I soon found myself crying hysterically in a shower and yelling "I can't do this anymore!"

I do realize we are so incredibly lucky. We have a child, who makes every day a better day. But still.

Every time my kid talks to me about how she wants "a real sibling".

Every time she plays with a doll and calls it her sister.

Every time I see a pregnant woman with a kid.

Every time I think how we always wanted two kids.

It hurts so much, but I cannot stop trying yet.

November 2014: We went to our docs again. RE is pushing for IVF with genetic screening (remember, crappy eggs). I don't want to do this. It's invasive, expensive, may endanger my health (I have a bit of a history) and the success percentages are about the same as my chances to successfully conceive and carry to term on my own.

The other Dr. insists my eggs are not the issue (remember, crappy uterus). He thinks we have to deal with inflammation, and suggests we send a few tests to a lab in Chicago and go from there - either continue with current protocol, or have more serious drugs, or have a surgery for endometriosis. Our current insurance covers my RE (though it wouldn't cover IVF) and doesn't cover the other Dr. and any of his suggested options - and since the RE is, to put it mildly, not very keen on the whole "inflammation" theory, we are on our own.