Freaky Reproduction Award

Freaky reproduction (as in infertility and its numerous treatments) and various other related forms of miracle reproductions (as in virgin births), though certainly not the norm, make up a visible portion of the entertainment industry.

Take for example, ABC’s show Desperate Housewives. It started off with the suicide of a perfect housewife and mother of one child (I guess that should have ticked us off. Who has only one child if not freaky people?). As the show progressed it was revealed that this desperate housewife was desperately infertile and had to “steal” the kid of a fertile drug addict. Later when the drug addict was “clean” and demanded back her child (“thanks for taking care of my baby, now hand him back”), the desperate infertile killed her and subsequently herself a couple of years down the road. Apparently it’s well known that infertility can cause great pains, and what is more entertaining than watching how freaky people deal with it behind closed doors?

So, because freaky reproduction is so darn entertaining to the masses, I am thinking of giving out awards for the best “freaky reproduction” encountered in the media.

Here is my absolute favorite so far. I believe it was one of the CSI episodes, though please do not ask me which of the many CSI shows it actually was. New York, Miami, Babylon? Don’t know and don’t care.

The episode in question had it all: failed IVFs and FETs, embryo donation, virgin birth, and of course, bloody murder. Really, that’s hard to beat, don’t you think?

If I remember correctly the story started out with a mother of a little boy being murdered. So far nothing out of the ordinary for a crime show. But listen. The mother was still a virgin as attested by her intact hymen (guess, the kiddle came out via c-section. I just can’t see a hymen surviving a vaginal birth)?! And No, no, her name was not Mary, but I shall call her so anyway. So, of course freaky (as opposed to the divine) reproduction must have played a role. Freaky as in donor embryo. And believe it or not, in her will Mary assigned the genetic parents custody of her little boy. That of course, signed her death warrant. I almost feel silly pointing it out to you.

The genetic parents of the little boy didn’t have any babies of their own. None of the three (or so) IVFs produced a baby. And instead of trying a last time with their frozen embryos (as I assume probably most infertiles who still wish for a child would have done), they donated their embryos. To modern Mary, or whatever her name.

While Mary is busy gestating a little boy, the genetic father of the little boy dies; most likely of a heart attack or cancer or some other unfortunate life event. His death leaves a heartbroken wife. No husband, no babies.

And this is where another mother enters the picture. The genetic maternal grandmother. Because life has dealt her daughter a very crappy hand of cards, she takes matters in her own hands and forces some happiness into her daughter’s life.

Unfortunately that meant to kill Mary. Poor virgin Mary who only wanted to do good by saving doomed embryos (while at the same time saving herself for Mr. Right).

So, I guess, the morale of this episode was something along these lines: always offer yourself as a surrogate. It may save YOUR life. Or maybe I misunderstood. Maybe the show just wanted to say: Never attempt a virgin birth. Too dangerous.

Any other favorites out there?

Email and other (in)fertile news

Let's summary what has happened so far today:

I was just informed (via email, of course) that I was awarded about a million or so English pounds in some surprise and obscure lottery that I didn’t even know I participated in. Isn’t that fantastic? I didn’t even have to buy a ticket?! Oh, goody, I will have loads of money to pay for all the medication that I am currently waiting for. What a relief. (If only, right? It would be soooo fabulous, would it not. sigh.)

And if that wasn’t enough good email news. I also learned that I could get a genuine university degree (BA, MA, MBA, or Ph.D) in just 2-4 weeks, without studying. Oh, my! Can you imagine my possibilities? But then I remembered. I already have a Ph.D.. And see where it got me so far (still at home, trying to build a family…). Not even considering all the years I worked, studied, and researched for it. If I had only known. But I am seriously thinking of getting another (maybe this time, all I have to do is sit on my couch. Lovely thought). It’s nice to have two, you know?

The next email, unfortunately, was of the “we have news variety.” You guessed right. Somewhere in the middle of the email, it said “oh, and we just had a baby yesterday.” You know, dear internet, having a baby is really no big deal. Making one even less so. Having a bit of sex, spiced with a bit of passion, 9 months of blissful baby-baking, and voila, baby is out. Hardly noticed it. Infertile ID is proposing sending out an email saying “we have news, too! I’m shooting drugs up my ass!.” And yes, my superego is happy for the fortunate parents.

Other less spectacular news includes a marital dispute, fueled by…, oh I forgot. It had something to do with ordering drugs. The fertility kind. After much hubbub they’re supposed to come today. We’ll see.

Scary.

A war with many battlefields: Introduction to a gynacological horror show - or so it feels

So, lovely internet, here it comes. My own personal gynacological horrorshow.

At times my struggle with infertility seems like a war with many battlefields; some of which that may still lie in the dark (though I’m hoping not). At this point, almost all my reproductive organs have taken a beating: ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, and cervix. It’s not hopeless, yet, but it does feel like I’m sitting on a minefield that can go off any time – or has already done so.

1. Battlefield: Endometriosis
I was diagnosed with endometriosis when I was 29 years of age. I was single at that time and not trying for a baby. At first, it looked like my endometriosis had spared my reproductive organs and had mostly just taken a liking to my bladder (of all places, and just for the record: it grows outside and inside my bladder). But we were wrong. In fact, these days (now that I know I’m infertile) my RE, to be referred to as Dr. Soothing, even uses the plural form when speaking of my endometriomaS that have taken residence on my ovaries. And these ones are not the first. I’ve already had one removed from my left ovary via laparoscopy a couple of years ago before my pregnancy with Miss V who we luckily conceived relatively effortless despite all this endometriosis shit (and out of that left ovary no less).

Dr. Soothing considers my current endometriomaS our primary reason for not getting pregnant again. He also thinks that these lovely chocolate cysts were probably already in place before we started “trying” for our elusive second child. But I don’t get it. I really thought after 9 months of pregnancy (= no periods) and a year of nursing (= another year of no periods for me), I should have been in good shape?! Alas, not so much. According to Dr. Soothing, I seem to have a particularly severe/aggressive form of endometriosis, one that grows regardless of treatment. Or pregnancy.

2. Battlefield: Partial Uterine Rupture
It’s sort of difficult for me to admit to an infertility community that I still harbor some anger about what happened at Miss V. birth. After all, not only was I able to get pregnant and stay pregnant, I also was able to go home with a beautiful baby girl. And beautiful she was and still is. Nevertheless, it still boggles my mind that the incredibly unlikely complication of a uterine rupture happened to me. Nobody knows why it happened, although I have some hypotheses of my own. My regular gynecologist, Dr. BadNews (for that’s what I associate her with), claims I have a “weak” uterus. Weak uterus?! WTF is that supposed to mean?

As far as I know the partial rupture should not have any impact whatsoever on conceiving again. It does however have implications for future pregnancies: 1) a future pregnancy would be high risk, and would require a C-birth sometime before the duedate should we be able to make it thus far. 2) At least Dr. BadNews thinks I should only attempt to have one more child. This last bit of news was depressing when I heard it because I felt ripped of a “choice.” Haha, now that having this “one more child” is such challenge, I can’t remember anymore why I was so depressed about the news in the first place. 3) Should we be able to attempt IVF, and get to transfer, we may not be able to transfer more than one embryo (if there are more in the first place), thus reducing our chance of a future pregnancy.

It sucks.

3. Battlefield: Cervical dysplasia
Sometime last year after almost one and a half years of no period due to pregnancy and nursing, my period returned. And so did my bladder pain caused by endometriosis. Honestly, I never expected anything else. Sure, I was hoping that maybe pregnancy would have changed things for the better as apparently it does for some women, but I really didn’t expect it (unlike one of my best friends who like so many people uninitiated in endometriosis think that pregnancy is a cure. Let me tell you, it’s not).

When my endometriosis symptoms returned I made an appointment with Dr. BadNews who I hadn’t really seen before. During this appointment, we talked about another pregnancy and she delivered the somewhat depressing news about “only attempting one more due to my weak uterus.” During the same appointment, I also asked for a pap smear.

Pap smears had thankfully never been an issue for me before my pregnancy and I didn’t really expect them to be a problem now. And after not hearing from my doctor for almost three weeks, I pretty much thought things were okay. How wrong I was – yet again.

My pap smear turned out bad, very bad. Apparently, I’m a carrier of the HPV virus*. According to Dr. BadNews with the degree of abnormality seen in my pap smear, cervical cancer was pretty much a certainty, if not already then in the future. I had my biopsy (at which I yelled at my doctor to never use the term “hysterectomy” in my presence ever again. I really did. Poor Woman. But then again she was the messenger of bad news...) done a day before we were supposed to spend a beach vacation with Mr. H’s family. That vacation was sort of drowned in tears while waiting for the results. Although not very likely, Dr. BadNews hadn’t ruled out cancer quite yet.

When the results finally came in (and it took longer than it normally takes – how reassuring), they were thankfully much better than expected. To all our surprise the degree of “severe” abnormality was downgraded to “mild.” Nevertheless, Dr. BadNews recommended a leep procedure to get rid of the abnormal tissue. And so we did. If you have never had this procedure done, let me tell you, it’s quite a sight to see one’s vagina smoking…

Rationally I know that pap smears are a good thing for women**. But I am now scared of them. I just couldn’t afford anymore procedures that shorten and weaken my cervix. Not now, not before I have my second baby. I already have dysfunctional ovaries and a broken uterus. Is there no end to this?

* if it is true that only promiscuous women get HPV (and cervical dysplasia), I must have had a far more exciting sex life than I am aware of. What bullshit. Any woman who has ever had sex with men – may it be only one time (I also know one lesbian woman with HPV. No kidding.) can get this virus. Men, too, of course. It just doesn’t hurt them.

** there may be great help for my daughter’s generation: a vaccine against the HPV virus that protects them almost, if not, 100%! Miss V. is definitely going to be vaccinated. No question about it.

4. Battlefield: Aging Ovaries
After my leep procedure, I was set on getting pregnant again soon. I was 34 and I was desperate. I wanted to be pregnant before my next pap smear so badly…Well, we all know that didn’t happen.

Month after month went by and each month I got my period. Blablabla. You all know how it is. And you all know where I went from there. After a year, now 35, I subjected myself to the care of an RE, Dr. Soothing.

Given my endometriomaS and all that shit, he told me right away that he thought my best chance would be IVF, if, of course, my ovaries hadn’t given up quite yet. During a very stressful cycle, it was determined that my ovaries were a bit old, but not too old yet. My FSH, though close to the magical 10, had not crossed that barrier yet. Although Dr. Soothing didn’t seem too concerned about my FSH, I am now working with my acupuncturist* to “lower” my FSH. Gosh, can a girl not get a break?

* My infertility employs a whole arsenal of different professions

5. Battlefield: Asherman’s Syndrome
Remember that birth complication that I still feel sort of angry about? Well, part of the anger results from the fact that not only did I have that super unlikely (and unlucky) uterine rupture, I also ended up in the unlikely category of getting Asherman’s from that c-birth.

Asherman’s syndrome refers to any kind of scarring/adhesions in the uterus. It is caused by uterine surgery and infections (I think). It is also rare. Asherman’s can cause thin uterine lining, it might make it difficult for an embryo to implant, and it might cause miscarriages. It can also block fallopian tubes (which it did for me on the right side). It sucks.

Apparently, I signed up for it.

All this makes one wonder how my body ever managed to get pregnant and give birth to Miss V., doesn’t it? Well, at least I wonder. I will be forever grateful that I have my little Miss V. If I had to go through her pregnancy and birth again and again to get her out safely and soundly, I would in a heartbeat. No question about this.

…But I nevertheless have a hard time digesting all my unlikely reproductive complications. Why does every part of my reproductive plumbing have to be bruised, often several times?

I admit that I am/ was a tad bit depressed about having endometriosis. But I try to think “shit happens. And that’s the shit that happened to you. Deal with it.” And I accept that I have endometriosis. I really think I do. Things could be much, much worse (people tell me this a lot, but really they don’t have to. I’m pretty sure I know this myself). I even sort of accept that I suffer from infertility as a result of it (although I admit, that is much easier to do when you already have a child). Long before even trying to conceive my first baby, I tried to prepare myself and Mr. H. for the likely reality of IVF some day (but then was awfully glad that Miss V. didn’t require it). But I have a hard time grasping the rest. It’s just too much. If all these assaults to my reproductive system are supposedly unlikely and random, how can they have all happened to me? It boggles my mind. Somewhere along the way, something inside of me has shattered and I am not sure it will ever be whole again. Is it any wonder that I feel like a gynecological horror show?

By the way, we have never had Mr. H. tested yet. Any chance this may all be “his” fault? Haha.

Hey, what’s that, Mama?

Miss V. holding a balloon in front of her and generously offering her answer “It’s a big belly. You try.”

Yep, Miss V. likes me to carry a balloon under my shirt and call it a baby. Nice, eh? And you know the worst? In a morbid kind of way, I like it. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?

So, where am I now?

Before I am going to post another mammoth post about my several reproductive ailments (sorry, internet, I have lots to get out on this one), I thought, why not sit down for a minute and ponder about where in the process of “baby-making” we currently are.

Diagnostics on me: check
Diagnostics on Mr. H: apparently almost irrelevant

I had my operative hysteroscopy in December, which sort of meant a deliberate act of egg kamikaze that particular cycle due to no sex around ovulation time. And surprise: No PMS symptoms that cycle – AT ALL. And I really listened hard. Go figure.

The following cycle was delayed by taking estrace for 7 days to see if my lining was willing to cushion up. Apparently, the result was acceptable, 8mm, and that’s, internet is what I am shooting for. Acceptable. Thanks lining!

I am currently waiting for my period. I have my PMS symptoms (hello back-pain!), so I know it can’t be far away. I am actually sort of curious to see whether my blood flow will have increased due to a healthier (so I hope) lining. Of course, deep down I am still hoping to be pregnant. But I guess, I don’t even have to mention this to you…..oh, but wait, there is blood in my underwear now. Day 1 has arrived.

Just called the clinic and they want to see me tomorrow for my baseline appointment. Tomorrow. I’m overwhelmed right now. IVF. How again did we end up here?

Infertile ID: Introduction

This blog is meant to be an outlet for my generally neglected ID (which according to Freudian theories, whatever they are worth, is supposedly the site of my unconscious, egoistic, & primitive urges and desires) in dealing with secondary infertility. My ID may, of course, be occasionally be censored by my Superego (my social conscious).

It’s not pretty, my ID. It has somewhat “dark” feelings. It is self-centered and indulges occasionally (or as some would argue: always) in self-pity. I probably wouldn’t have very many friends if they had to deal with my ID a whole lot. Though, coming to think: these days my Ego and Superego don’t have a whole lot of friends either. Suppressing the ID has one big downside, it takes a whole lot of energy, and contributes to my feeling of depression, anger, and bitterness. And depression is, let’s face it, unattractive to be around. So, I decided that a blog would be a reasonable outlet for all this “dark” energy. And who knows, it may even help other women suffering from (secondary) infertility just as other blogs have helped me.

Where do I start? I am actually not too fond of many of Freud’s ideas. However, lately it feels as if there is a war going on within me. A war between how I should feel (let’s call that the Superego) and how I do feel (let’s call that the ID). And the mediator (let’s call that the ego) is getting tired in trying to find a compromise that works.

Need an example?
Infertile ID (spotting a pregnant belly, holding its breath): “need to scream, need to scream, need to scream….”
Superego: “that’s not nice. She hasn’t done anything to you. Be happy for her.”
Infertile ID: “WTF?”
Ego (very tired): Guys, please, can’t we just all get along?”
(and so on and so on)

So, that’s why I am here now, trying to make sense out of things that seem utterly senseless, reaching out to a world of women who go through similarly senseless and devasting times. Times of infertility.

In my personal case, I’m dealing with secondary infertility (SIF) as I was thankfully able to get pregnant and stay pregnant once with my now 2-year old daughter Miss V. In retrospect, I am not sure how I ever got pregnant. People claim that sex played a role. But since Mr. H. and I haven’t yet managed to replicate the experience in over 17 months, and according to my RE our best shot is IVF for a sibling, I sometimes wonder whether I, perhaps, got abducted by aliens? I mean, given my blood type and all? You see, some people suggest that people with my blood type (O-, a winner!) are sort of aliens or at the very least get visited by aliens a whole lot. I admit, I found this, how shall we call it, intriguing piece of information on the internet. But I digress.

Secondary infertility hit me both, expectedly and unexpectedly. Expectedly, because I have a known history of (aggressive) endometriosis. And endometriosis is never good news, particularly not if a woman still wants children. SIF heat me unexpectedly, because deep down, I thought I beat my odds once, I could do it again. I was quite wrong.

But endometriosis is not the only ailment of my reproductive systems. Since the birth of my daughter, I’ve added a ruptured uterus, cervical dysplasia (leep-ed), and Asherman’s syndrome. And on top of this, my aging ovaries (FSH was declared normal, yet a tad bit high) indulge themselves in growing chocolate cysts. Yes, there is not a single part of my reproductive plumbing that can be considered normal.

When we started trying for our elusive second child, we knew that we were looking at a high-risk pregnancy. Not only is my blood type (O-) sort of a bummer, but I am also at high risk for recurrent gestational diabetes (another winner!) and uterine ruptures (my biggest winner!). And then, who knows what else is lurking in the shadows. But I wasn’t prepared for how difficult it would be to even get pregnant. And in all honesty, I am bewildered about my shitty reproductive luck and frequently angry and bitter about it. Who would have thought that the ordinary dream of having children turns out to be so exotic?