We’ll call this the most uneventful fertility update ever told.
We did not conceive with our first round of fertility medication. I took the pregnancy test and went about my morning routine because, honestly, I knew it didn’t work. The Letrozole (Femara) twice a day, spaced exactly 12 hours apart for 5 days, the Ovidrel shot I had to give myself in my stomach at 5:30 a.m. to make myself ovulate: nothing came of it. We were still left empty handed.
Honestly? With our luck in this department did we really think we would get pregnant on our first round? No. And, statistically, not many do. It can take as many as 3-6 cycles before you get pregnant. Same with an IUI. If you’re lucky that is.
Was there some sadness? Yes. But, onward.
What stands out to me the most about this first round of Letrozle wasn’t the way my doctor assumed I wanted, and scheduled me for, an IUI without asking me. (I told him if he had helped us come up with a treatment plan he would know we weren’t ready for an IUI yet).
It wasn’t giving myself the shot of Ovidrel, which FedEx lost and the pharmacy had to overnight me another one to make sure I didn’t miss my window. It wasn’t the 7 vials of blood I had to give after my doctor told me not to eat or drink ANYTHING after midnight only to find out after crawling into the office looking like the crypt keeper that water was perfectly acceptable to have prior to getting my blood drawn.
It wasn’t it the HSG (hysterosalpingogram) test where a doctor shoved a catheter up my lady parts and shot dye into me to see if my tubes were open (they were) or how I cried out in pain or bled after it was over and had to walk out of the room with a towel between my legs.
It wasn’t having to excuse myself from my friend’s son’s 2nd birthday to hide in the bathroom to take my medication. Or how I held my friend’s 6 week old baby in my arms, then cried all the way home….not because of her but because holding her baby felt so natural and made me so happy.
I will forever remember the breath I let out the morning I held that negative pregnancy test in my hand: the breath I had been holding the entire time we’ve been trying to get pregnant. “Okay”, I thought. “That’s it. I surrender.”
I will always remember this first round not as money wasted but a big lesson learned.
A lesson in patience? Yes.
A lesson in perseverance? Absolutely.
But mostly? A lesson in self-preservation.
For months I’ve lived and died by the pregnancy tests I’ve taken, my BBT and the app that supposedly tracked my (non-existent) ovulation. It was time to let go; time to surrender.
We decided to take the month of September off, which has now turned into October as well (because of some issues with getting in to the doctor). We had two weddings, a bachelorette party and our first wedding anniversary and we didn’t want to be stressed about fertility medication and ovulation shots.
I also watched the season premiere of “This is" Us” and after watching Kate and Toby’s story line unfold (I won’t give spoilers, but it really hit home) I plucked up the courage to call a new fertility doctor and schedule an appointment. I start seeing this new doctor in November: they’ve promised they will help us come up with a treatment plan, they will listen and, most importantly, they will be empathetic. I’m coming to terms with the fact that we may not become parents in 2018 and I’m staying hopeful that this new doctor might be able to help us conceive before the end of the year.
In terms of progress, this is the most uneventful fertility update ever. But emotionally? I have chosen to thrive.