Speak of the devil...and genetics news back

Speak of the devil, my period came - almost immediately after the last post went up. Day one, here we are.

Also, genetics on miscarriage #6 are back.

Normal male.

I don't even know what to think.

Mo

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There's no time like the first time: Will's take

Reading over Mo's reflections on doing IVF again, I realize that there are major differences - both good and bad - this time 'round. I am not blase about this IVF cycle, but experiencing a healthy dose of apprehension about getting too excited. For this next IVF, I am cautious, but for the long-term, I know - and definitely have more confidence than Mo - that eventually we will be fortunate to have a child and that child will be a true treasure in our lives.

Mo mentioned that yesterday marked one year since our first miscarriage. To be honest I would not have known that unless she told me. I felt ashamed when she reminded me, maybe because I think we should both be thinking the same thing.

This brought me to reflect on the entire year. It has been extremely tough on both of us, with plenty of surprises. As was alluded in our first post, we coped with our loses as well as major changes in our jobs in very different ways. While this was not the first time I saw my wife cry, it was the first time that I had absolutely no idea how to make it better (as if that was my job, to somehow cure the pain). This was also the first time that I felt such utter loss. It seemed quite logical at the time to have a drink when I came home to relax. Unfortunately one drink quickly became two and so on. This absolutely pathological coping mechanism had the insidious character of carpenter ants. At first it just seems like there are just one or two, but before you realize it, the entire structure is infiltrated, jeopardizing its very integrity. If there is a silver lining, I am fortunate to have such a loving and caring wife who quickly found the best help possible for me. And now I feel that I am a much better husband. Mo's response to my selfishness has been nothing short of a blessing. Not the way I would have chosen it, and certainly the last thing my wife wanted or needed to handle.

So, yes, this time feels much different than a year ago. We have grown a tremendous amount. What a steep learning curve for our first year of marriage! I feel in some way we escaped from a burning building only to realize that we - thankfully - still have each other. I am optimistic and quietly excited to re-enter the IVF arena with Mo. This time I will be with Mo in every way possible.

Thanks to everyone who has visited - and especially those who have left comments. Please keep coming back. Also, Mo found out late today that she will be starting Lupron suppression Wednesday. Her persistent telephone calls evidently wore down the insurance folks and the meds will arrive tomorrow. Somehow it all works out, even if she doesn't believe it will.

Will

There's no time like the first time: Mo's take

I woke up early this morning and was partially dressed for the gym before I realized that I was supposed to get bloodwork at the RE's office to confirm my ovulation.

I had completely forgotten.

What a difference a year makes. A little over a year ago, Will and I were anxiously preoccupied with every detail of our first (and we were certain, last) IVF cycle. A little over a year ago, we were breathless with anticipation, buoyed with hope and confidence that scientific technology would make conception a breeze. A little over a year ago, there is no chance I would have "forgotten" to go in for a blood draw.

I realized after we posted last night that yesterday marked the one year anniversary of our entire world coming apart. Nov. 9, 2007 was the date of my D&C that marked the abrupt end of our first pregnancy. It is hard now to imagine the naivete, the head-over-heels eagerness we felt during that pregnancy. Our RE had warned us repeatedly "Don't get excited yet" so many times that I began asking at each ultrasound "Can we get excited now?" Finally he said yes and sent us off to the OB. We were flying high, filled with a sense of certainty that all would go as it should. That world came crashing down when the OB was unable to find the heartbeat and told us that the baby had died. It ushered in a new era in our relationship. One that left me weeping - big gasping animal-like sobs - for the next few weeks and that left Will also grieving, albeit more quietly, and unsure how to calm or comfort his sudden wreck of a wife.

It is striking to realize the vast emotional distance traveled between a year ago and today. Will and I are chastened, forever changed by our experience. Although I can't predict how I will react should I find myself pregnant again in the future, I know that our excitement will be greatly tempered by a visceral understanding of all that can go wrong, of the thousand treacherous miles that lay between conception and holding an actual live baby in our arms.

So I sat this morning in the RE's waiting area, a long rectangular room filled with well-heeled women that always reminds me of some kind of female airplane terminal, shaking my head that I had changed so much in a year.

And then I started wondering, could there be some upsides to this new way of being? Maybe it's not so bad that I "forgot" my blood draw, only remembering it as an afterthought this morning. I DID get there after all. And it's certainly easier on my nerves that I'm feeling more detached. We are having trouble with our insurance and it is unclear how long the pre-authorization process will take so that I can get the lupron I expect to start injecting on Wednesday. Is this causing me the faintest whiff of anxiety? Not really. I am just barely walking myself through the motions of following up - again - with the RE's insurance specialist. I figure something will work out. Or not.

Call it not sweating the small stuff or call it pathological numbness. But it's less of a roller coaster for sure.

Mo