Author: Courtney Fabio

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From Her Point of View

 

Failure.

After weeks of shots in the belly, shots in the ass, estrogen patches, supplements, not lifting more than 10lbs, avoiding caffeine, sugar, raw almost anything, soft cheese, and Advil, surgical procedures, bed rest, and essentially avoiding anything that makes anyone any fun.

Failure. 

I’m not saying I failed. I’m not saying I didn’t. But in the end, that’s exactly what happened. We may never know the reason. It could be that the embryo wasn’t genetically viable and the body has an incredible way of avoiding that kind of heartbreak. It could be something the clinic did. It could be something I did. It could just be bad luck.

I’m not going to say “it happened for a reason”, because fuck that. Nor am I going to say “it’ll happen when it’s time”, because fuck that, too. If the universe has a timeline and it’s not right now, I would have appreciated a heads up before we took out a $20,000 loan.

I want to make people feel better. If you’re hurting, I’m hurting, and I just need to fix things. But this has taught me that some things just need to be felt, not fixed.

So here I am Friday afternoon, pumped full of pregnancy hormones (which is really the cruel joke in all of this), getting a call that starts with “do you have a minute to talk?” And I sat at work and cried before I had to bring lunch into a room full of incredible women, all with their new babies. And I’ll admit I kind of bolted out of the room, grabbed my things, and left. And I continued that cry in the car. Like, a legit ugly cry. And I’ve had some tears since, but that horrid ugly cry is what I needed. I felt that loss. I felt the grieving. I felt sad.

I am so, so truly appreciative of those in my life who love me. I have felt support in ways I’m not even sure I knew existed. I have a husband whose love is beyond words. I have family and friends who work so hard to let us know we’re in your hearts and minds. I love you all from the bottom of my heart, please know that.

I also need to ask for a little slack if I don’t always want to look on the bright side. Sometimes, I just need the leeway to say “this may never work.” It doesn’t mean it won’t, it just means I’m acknowledging what’s going through my head, and sometimes getting that out is all that’s necessary. Please forgive me when you want me to feel like my body can do anything, and I disagree. And I’m not going to apologize when encouraging words including hope, strength, and bravery are met with rebuttals of reality. My reality is this may or may not work, and acceptance of that does not mean I’ve given up.

So on to the next. We have one frozen embryo, so we’re going to try again. And if that doesn’t work, who knows? Maybe we’ll do it again. Maybe we’ll move to adoption. But as Mike has said, over and over: whether or not this works isn’t the end goal. No matter how our path looks, we’ve committed to becoming parents, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. 

(So, you know, if your mom’s friend’s neighbors daughter is preggers and looking to adopt, tell her to call us!)

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A slightly pessimistic, albeit honest, update.

I’ve been getting lots of questions about an update. I can’t believe so many people in our lives give that much of a shit. Thank you, friends. Your support has been invaluable.

As many of you know, we bought a house last year. It wasn’t necessarily planned, until our landlord jacked our rent up a LOT. And while we’re so grateful we were able to buy, we wiped out every bit of savings we had. So baby stuff got bumped back a bit.

So here’s the current standing: the plan is to get started in April. Let’s get SXSW out of the way, get our loan finalized, deal with whatever medical stuff I need to deal with dealt with.

Part of the reason I started this blog was to show the actual reality of what infertility looks like. And I’ve always promised to be honest with this blog. So let’s be honest.

I’m fucking exhausted.

The end of 2015 marked 3 years of pre-baby brain. Everyone who has started “trying” knows that your world is immediately shaken. I went from a 3 cups of coffee a day habit to caffeine free life. I have taken some really bizarre herbs and supplements. I’ve eaten pineapple core, stopped eating deli turkey for half the month, made maca and flax seed smoothies, tracked every. single. thing. my body does. I’ve fallen off piles of pillows, peed on ovulation sticks 3 times a day for months on end AND taped the sticks into a notebook with the day/time taken (eew, I know), and taken my temperature upon exact moment of waking up (but you know, don’t move before because it could spike your temp). I’ve been vaccinated, changed every one of my facial/soap products to pregnancy safe, and researched every Advil/Zyrtec/etc to see what pregnancy category it falls under. I’ve been poked, prodded, injected, cut open, asked super personal questions, and had more people than I’d like in places I’d prefer them not to be. I’ve dealt with headaches, anxiety, and other various medical issues because the remedy isn’t safe for pregnancy. I have listened to every old wives tale, rumor, and/or tip on how to get pregnant, and explained countless times that no, I cannot “just relax”. I have truly believed I’ve seen pregnancy symptoms, completely discounting the 30 previous years of bouts of nausea for every single reason other than pregnancy, only to be let down at the end of the month. I’ve put my baking business on hold. I’ve smiled, made jokes, laughed, and acted hopeful for the sake of others when I just wanted to scream.

I’m. Exhausted. And the funny thing about all of this, is that the hard work hasn’t even started. It’s hard to be excited about the possibility of a baby when you’ve moved into the it’s not happening mindset (thank you, but no pep talks needed). Because it’s hard to see a baby in your future when you have injections, pills, blood, doctors, waiting, restrictions, and procedures, or home visits, birth parents, and approvals between you and that baby. And the giant pink elephant that no one wants to talk about: there’s a pretty significant chance that it just won’t work. So at that point, does it all become worthless? What happens when you’re paying back a $20,000 loan every month for nothing? When trying again becomes a whole new set of loan documents, injections, and broken hope.

I’m not all pessimism. Most of the time I know it’ll happen somehow. Mike and I have committed to finding a way to parenthood, whatever it takes. Whether that be IVF or adoption, we know we’ll love that baby the same and all of this will be worth it. And that’s a great feeling to have, at least most of the time. But there are just times it’s not enough, and I get all emo and shit. Calling a spade a spade.

So there it is, the update. I’m sure you can understand why I’ve been hesitant to put this out there. But we committed to honesty and that’s what I’m going to do. With any luck, this time next year, we’ll be able to look back at this and be glad we’ll never have to feel this way again.

See? Optimism.

 

Side note: I just want to thank all the friends and family who have privately spoken with us about your personal journeys. The good, the bad, and the ugly have all helped us navigate our own path. To you, we are grateful.

 

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The Story of Two Tubes and Far Too Many Feels

I’ve been trying to write this blog for 2 weeks, and for some reason the words just entirely evaded me. I’ve started it a few times, would get halfway done, realize I was writing nonsense, and then delete it. I kept writing about the surgery I had a couple of weeks ago. The experience, the recovery. The stupid details that no one wants to hear about anyway.

But let’s start there – I had surgery on June 3 at 7:30a. Everything went as planned. Scar tissue, endometriosis, encapsulated fallopian tubes removed on both sides. Recovery went well.

But here’s what didn’t go as planned: how I was going to end up feeling about this whole thing. To be clear, I went in with 100% knowledge about what we were doing, and what the results would be. My doctor is amazing, and we talked in depth about what my options were, and the possible outcomes.

I knew that after surgery, I’d be clinically sterile. But what I didn’t know was the impact that term would have. The one thing we want more than anything is a baby, and now, here I am clinically sterile. Clinically. Sterile.

This is not how this is supposed to go.

I am no more or less sterile now than I was before the surgery, so how is this weighing on me so much? Maybe in my head, there was still this shred of hope. Like there was a 0.002% that a spontaneous pregnancy would occur. Who knows, maybe I’m more of an optimist than I thought?

It’s funny how some people respond when they find out you’re doing fertility treatments. So many people have been wonderful, with the most amazing and appreciated words of kindness. But there are always those people who say, “Watch, you’ll go to start the IVF and then you’ll get pregnant!” I used to have energy for a witty comeback, or at least “nope, but nice thought”. Now, it’s just a sad “there is literally zero chance of that happening”. It’s generally an awkward moment all around, but it’s the truth.

I’ve learned to deliver all kinds of bizarre information through this process, but having to repeat over and over how defective my body is gets exhausting.

Emotions aside, there was no getting rid of one fact: I didn’t have a choice. As a product of 5 previous surgeries, my fallopian tubes were completely encased in scar tissue. There was a 0% chance an egg could have gotten in, and suspending reality and pretending it did, there was a 0% chance of fertilization as it was full of toxic fluids. Going the try-to-fix-it route only left me susceptible for them to close right back up, and at risk for ectopic pregnancy (yes! It’s totally possible, even with IVF) where I’d lose my tubes, and the baby, anyway. More than 50% of ectopic pregnancies are a result of damaged tubes, with many miscarriages a result of the toxic fluid coming back into the uterus and damaging the embryo.

My intention with this post isn’t to be depressing, it’s to bring these kind of things into the light. Since we’ve decided to be open with this, I’ve had the joy of connecting with so many people going through this. Some with good outcomes, some not. Some open about this, some who have hidden it from everyone – close friends and family included. I couldn’t have known how this would feel. I didn’t know it was even an option. But I do know this: this fight is much easier when you’re not doing it alone.

I suppose this is all part of the process. And I mean, if we’re being real optimists here, fallopian tubes are just a formality, right? I like to consider my surgery an upgrade to my future child’s uterine home. It’s like getting bumped to a suite at a hotel. Without the free toiletries. Silver linings all around.

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My name is Courtney, and I’m about to share way too much information.

1 in 8 couples have an issue getting, or staying, pregnant. And we’re one of them.

We’re not starting this blog to to gross anyone out. It’s not for sympathy, either. There are so many people going through this, and not nearly as many talking about it. I get it. It’s a private matter. Talking about getting pregnant usually mentions (gasp) sex. But infertility is anything but romantic.

I’m going to be frank here. This shit sucks. It just does. And I’m still not entirely sure there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.  But I know that hearing personal experience helps me more in this process than any medical website or doctor. So if I can help one friend who’s silently going through this, that’s what I’m going to do.

I’ll get to the brass tacks here. We have female factor infertility. I’ve had 5 surgeries, of which started when I was 16. I’m like a medical text book. Ovarian cysts? Two different varieties. Endometriosis? Yep. Crazy adhesions (scar tissue) that tie your inner organs together? It’s about as awesome as it sounds. Fibroids? Let’s throw those in too. Now, we’re heading into the grand finale where scar tissue has screwed things up so royally that I have to have my fallopian tubes removed. Surgery number six will be happening soon.

We’ve been attempting conception for over a year and a half now, and with IVF being our only option in conceiving, it’s now science to us (I’ll touch on adoption in an other post). Of course the love exists, but where there were once thoughts of romantic weekends and Pinterest-esq announcements, there are now schedules, injections, blood draws, and strangers in scrubs.

Emotionally, I think we’ve experienced it all. Excitement, disappointment, guilt, love, anger – the list goes on. Funny enough, the diagnosis of absolute infertility made things exponentially easier. There’s nothing worse than a year and a half of the unknown. So when we told the fertility specialist “we’ve been trying for a year and half”, to which she responded with a head shake and a succinct “no you haven’t”, things were finally clear. There’s no doubt that having to do IVF brings on a whole different kind of stress, but it was finally a problem with a solution.

So what now? Well, surgery comes first, and then we schedule the IVF cycle, which goes for about 8 weeks. We’ll be chronicling this process along the way because it has to be talked about. For the record, we’re not offended if this is more than you want to know and prefer not to read it. We get it. But for those also going through this, just know you’re not alone on this (extremely confusing, emotion invoking, yet awesomely scientific) ride.