Pregnancy Doesn't Always Mean Happiness

"We're having a baby!" These words should mark the beginning of nine months of joy for a young, married couple, such as myself and my husband, to culminate with the greeting of a new life. My best friend had a baby in 2005. My sorority sisters have children ranging in ages from 7 to newborn. One of my closest ADPi sisters just had the Christening for her second child. My husband's boss at work just welcomed twins into the world.

You'd think I would be happy for these people; that I would share in their joy. Don't get me wrong-- I am very happy for them. However, I just can't seem to share in their joy. With the exception of my Godson, Stephen Elijah, I just can't get into babies or even toddlers. I feel a knife go through my heart whenever I hear that one just took their first steps or is cutting another tooth. My stomach flips over when someone coos to me, "Oh, she just said mama!" Shoot, I can't even walk through the baby section of department stores without feeling a pang of misfortune.

Go ahead, think that I am selfish. Think I'm evil. Think I'm the nastiest person that has ever waslked the face of the Earth. My goodness, I can't be happy about babies? What kind of person am I?!

An infertile one. Not completely infertile... I have Luteal Phase Defect Disorder, known as LPDD. This disorder causes my body to not create progesterone, the hormone necessary to maintain a proper pregnancy. Because of this, I had three miscarriages last year: January, July and September. I'm only 30 years old, any my husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for nearly 2 years. It has absolutely nothing to do with him; my husband is perfectly fine. It's completely me.

So, you can imagine how inadequate that makes me feel. ALL women are supposed to be able to bear children. I can't. At least, I can't without help.

Back in August of last year (after my second miscarriage), my husband and I started seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist. That's when we took a battery of tests and found out that he is 100% fine, and I have LPDD. I started the fertility drug Clomid in October, after my third miscarriage in September. We didn't do inseminations (known as IUI) or anything until December, thinking that we could get pregnant on our own by just using the Clomid, like we did back in June.

In December, we learned that nothing was working and decided to go the IUI route. The day before the procedure, I received a trigger shot of HcG (a shot to make certain that I ovulate). the next morning, I woke up and the right side of my face was swollen. I didn't think anything of it, and we went in for the procedure. An hour later, after the procedure was done, I was rushed to the hospital. I had an allergic reaction to something (the trigger shot is the suspect) and went into anaphylaxic shock. I had to get all sorts of shots, IVs and even an albuterol mask. It was terrifying. I was in the hospital for three days, and released right before Christmas. Surprise, surprise-- The IUI didn't take that month.

We tried again in January, and again it was a failure. We didn't do a trigger shot because of my reaction the month before. I didn't want to end up in the hospital again, to say the very least. But, when the IUI was a failure, my husband and I were crushed. I was tired of being a pin cushion-- getting blood drawn every other day, having shots, taking pills that altered my mood... Life was not too great in my household.

In February, we tried yet again. I took a different trigger shot, called Ovidrel. It was the same HcG, but in a different medium. I didn't have a reaction. i had two IUI procedures two days in a row, then my husband and I went to Jamaica for the weekend. We came home from Jamaica, then went to Washington DC for a couple of days. My two week wait (the two weeks it takes for the female body to create its own HcG and progesterone to display signs of pregnancy) really wasn't that bad.

On Tuesday, March 7, I went in for more bloodwork. I was thrilled when the nurse congratulated me and said that my HcG level was 23.5 and my progesterone level was 23.6. I told my husband, and we hugged. I even cried. We had been trying since our wedding on April 9, 2005, and it finally happened. We would be parents the week before Thanksgiving this year.

Or so we thought, and we still hope...

Two days later, I went in for more blood work. My progesterone increased to 29 and my HcG increased to 54.2. They were happy with those numbers, as they want to see your HcG double every 2 days. A couple of days later, I went in for bloodwork again. My HcG jumped to 106, but my progesterone dropped to 18.5. That was not a good sign, as the progesterone is what makes the embryo "stick" to the uterus. The RE asked me to come in 4 days later, on Friday. Again, more bloodwork. My progesterone dropped again to 17.8, and my HcG was only 369 when it should have been around 424. It wasn't too far off, so they weren't worried. What concerned them was that my progesterone level was dropping.

The nurse asked that we come back in so they could teach my husband how to give me progesterone shots. Since I was already on another type of progesterone, I was concerned as well. There was an ice storm, but my husband and I braved it and drove back to the RE's office so he could learn. We finally got there, and my husband watched the nurse give me a shot in the rear-end. She even drew circles in permanent marker to show where he should aim. Truth be told, my hubby is a pro at giving me shots. He should be a nurse instead of a cop, but that's another story altogether.

On Monday, I went in for more bloodwork. My progesterone stabelized at 17.5, but my HcG only jumped to 501. It should have increased at least 60%, which would have been 592. I wasn't too worried, but the doctors weren't too thrilled with the numbers. I was hanging onto the hope that this would turn out to be a good pregnancy, and we would be able to welcome a bundle of joy in November.

Tuesday morning, I woke up with a pain in my side. I called the RE's office, and the nurse told me to come in right away. They were afraid that I had an ectopic pregnancy, something that could turn out to be life-threatening. We rushed in and my regular RE wasn't there. The Physician's Assistant took a look on the trans-vaginal ultrasound, and couldn't see anything in my uterus. The RE (who, by the way, owns the practice) took a look and said, "Well, just stop the progesterone, and hopefully this pregnancy will terminate on its own." Thank goodness my husband was in the room with me. I completely lost it; hysterical crying. The RE said "I'm sorry," then left the room. I was crushed. After all this, after telling our parents and siblings that we were expecting, we were going to lose another one.

The PA said that she would call my regular RE and told us to wait. I got dressed and waited for what seemed like an eternity. finally, she came in and told me that my RE said to stay on the progesterone and come back on Thursday for more bloodwork and another ultrasound. I knew that, if I went off the progesterone, I would lose this pregnancy for sure. I was happy that there was a glimmer of home, but those were two of the hardest days of my life. We thought for sure it was over.

I went in on Thursday morning for more bloodwork, then in the afternoon for my ultrasound. I was thrilled when the RE said my HcG jumped from 501 to 927. If it was going to increase 60%, it should have been 800 or so. Plus, my progesterone was 20.3. That went up, too! I thought they were great signs. However, the ultrasounds revealed something quite different: nothing at all. the RE couldn't see anything in my uterus, but also couldn't see anything in my tubes, which was a good thing. There was a smudge in my uterus, but she couldn't tell what it was.

The RE was very realistic with us: I am probably going to miscarry again. There's about a 99% chance that I will. However, there is still that 1% chance that I won't that I am clinging to. The RE said that she has seen many cases like this in the 12 years that she has been an RE, and only saw one of them turn out for the best. Hopefully, I will be the second. I'm just not going to hold my breath.

I'm really worried about telling my friends and extended family members, as I don't want to have to turn around and tell them that I had yet another miscarriage. I'm absolutely terrified about this pregnancy. Even if I find out that things are looking up when I go back in for bloodwork on Tuesday, I'm still going to be a basket case, thinking "What if" and worrying about absolutely everything that I ingest.

But, should I end up with a baby boy or girl in November, it will all be worth it.

To my friends and family that find out that I am pregnant from this post: I am sorry that I didn't tell you by personally calling or writing an email. I am sure you all understand, as you know what I have been going through oer the past couple of years. Please, please, please don't congratulate me. PLEASE. You can congratulate me if/when I deliver in November. I love you all, and I hope you don't take it personally. xoxo - Candice