You know when something bad happens to someone at work, everyone gets together and tries to help? Send flowers, write a card, make a casserole.  It’s a lovely gesture, and I know from being on the receiving end of it, it is most definitely appreciated.  But…

When the F*CK am I going to stop being the person who gets the freaking casseroles?!?!  It’s usually a thing that kind of rotates.  Someones kid breaks an ankle, someone’s grandmother passes, someone finds out both their embryos are abnormal, you know the usual. I’m so over people feeling bad for me.

It just feels like I’ve been the only one needing casseroles for like a year and a half, and even though they are delicious, and I don’t wish the casserole need on anyone else, I am done.  I am so sick of people saying “when are you going to catch a break” and “you’ve had a rough year” and “I really thought things would be on an upswing for you”.  Yeah, I agree with all this shit. I’ve been really struggling with this part lately.  I think because I had so much hope and positivity going into my IVF cycle and then it was crushed so definitively and quickly, it’s like I need casserole more than ever.

My friend Ashley from Feel.Fire.Flow (feelfireflow.com highly recommend) shared this article the other day that felt like it was my brain emptied out into someone else’s.  It was strange but also comforting.  Melissa Rauch from Big Bang Theory (fun fact I don’t enjoy that show at all, sorry Melissa) announced her pregnancy in the most authentic way for Glamour.  I felt like maybe she has been listening to me talk or maybe reading this (lol I wish) because she sounded so much like my inner monologue.  Please take a moment to read this whether you can relate or not to anything I write about here.  You will either appreciate it for its realness or it can help you understand how those of us who’ve been through pregnancy loss have felt in the roller coaster of emotions that comes with the territory: Glamour

I’ve sat down to write this blog post every couple of days for the last couple of weeks.  I’ve felt guilt for not doing the once or twice a week that was my original goal.  But I just haven’t had it in me.  Check out my last post to get caught up in my journey and perhaps understand why I haven’t had the umph to get typing (There’s Nothing Funny About This Post.).

But, I just got back from a week in my favorite place, York Beach, Maine:

I finally felt the energy to put some words down on “paper” again. Trying to keep up the hope in what feels like an actual SEA (ocean picture pun intended) of pregnant people around me has been extremely difficult.  It always has been but this moment has been a particular suckfest. Hoping this is going to kick start me back into the consistent writing as we embark on the next step.  One thing my counselor at the Fertility office told me was when I am feeling really down and sad to try and do things that feel authentic to the way I want to live my life, instead of burying myself in a dark room under a blanket (that latter being most likely, let’s be honest).  But, I realize that a more regular fitness regimen and writing the blog were both things that were therapeutic and part of my wellness routine that had been working for my overall wellbeing in this hot mess that is my current life.

So, here I am back at it. One could say “Oh my God we’re back againnnnn”, not really, but I felt that it was an appropriate time to include a Backstreet Boys Gif.

I think my “calling card” for this blog has been a mix of honesty, sadness with humor mixed in.  But I can’t find it in my soul to write anything funny in this post.  I don’t remember having as much hope as I did going into the IVF cycle.  I just felt in my heart that this was the way we would be able to create the family we always wanted. And, it may still be.  But, not this time.

For a review, everything started off great.  Cycle went well.  Had almost no symptoms, actually was maybe calmer than I am on a non-hormonal day.  We got 9 eggs from the cycle, and found out the next day that all 9 fertilized (which is very high, typically around 70% for my age).  Then I had to wait a few days until they got to day 5.  On day 5 I got an email from the doctor’s office that I had 2 that made it to testing.  TWO.  I was pretty surprised and a little disappointed.  But also kept telling myself that I only NEED one, that’s all.  So, not to be too discouraged.

A week after the retrieval I got a call from the testing location saying they received the embryos and that my results would come from my doctor in about a week.  But, that Friday (only two days after that call), I got a call that I knew was from my doctor’s office and I knew it wasn’t good.  I just knew in my head they wouldn’t call me this fast with good news.  It wasn’t my doctor, but a covering one, who called to say “Unfortunately both of your embryos tested with chromosomal abnormalities. I’m so sorry.”

Out of all the sad phone calls I have gotten at work in the last two years, this was by far the worst one.  It hit me like a punch in the gut.  Maybe because I had so much hope.  Maybe because it was earlier than I even thought I would hear anything. Maybe because I had nothing left.  Nothing.  But I was a disaster.  Luckily in the middle of an orientation session I was running (sarcasm).  My coworkers found me basically in a puddle on the floor of my office.

I drove home trying to call everyone I thought might be able to talk to me.  Definitely shouldn’t have been driving, but also definitely couldn’t stay at work either.  Called my husband, but he was at work at an event and while he was talking to me couldn’t really have any emotions in his current location, so nothing about that conversation actually helped me. I felt like every sad song in the universe was on the radio during that commute home.  Maybe that helped me get out all the tears though.

Finally got a hold of my mom and she came over.  And then Kenny came home early from work.  I just sat in a dark corner of my new house in silence.  Didn’t want to watch or do anything.  Of course when I turned on the TV, there was only baby commercials on #daytimetv.  So, that was great.

But basically I felt hopeless. I had nothing left to give, physically or emotionally.  I also decided, it was obviously me.  My eggs must be broken, my body must not be creating anything that actually worked since this happened plus my four losses on my own. It was a spiral of shittiness that lasted on and off that whole weekend.  To add to things, my doctor was on vacation and they originally couldn’t get me in until the 18th of July.  But that appointment was supposed to be discussing implantation which I had to wait for anyway.  Now that I had doom and gloom, I couldn’t wait that long.  Luckily they were able to get me a sooner appointment.

I talked to a lot of people, and almost nothing helped to be honest.  Despite people’s best efforts, nothing anyone was going to tell me was going to get me out of that dark place mentally.  The thing was, I was prepared for the first cycle not to take.  I knew it often didn’t.  What I wasn’t prepared for was not even having anything we could use to try.  Not even being able to get to implantation and then the dark rabbit hole of why is this happening.  This must be a bad sign, we must not have a chance.

The only thing I heard that gave me any solace at that moment was one person who successfully completed IVF before who said she was told by someone else before she had a success “don’t give up until the doctor tells you there’s no chance”.  And I was like ok, until that happens, there is still a chance.  And while there is still a chance, I’ll keep going.

I have to.