Thank you

A big thank you to Mandy, Kelly, Amy, and Rachel for sharing their stories last week for remembrance day.  I thought each story was beautiful and touching and when I lit my candle, I thought of your babies along with all the babies we celebrated that day. Thank you for sharing.  And to those who felt the losses silently, my love and thoughts were with you as well.  As I read blog post upon blog post last year in honor of the days, I was blown away all over again by this community we are all apart of. So much love, so much loss.  My heart was breaking and overflowing with pride simultaneously. 

Truly, it was a day to remember, in every way.

Remembering Butterfly

Today is a day put aside in remembrance.  A day to stop everything in our hectic lives and remember the babies we have lost.  It's a day to think of the sweet babies that were taken too soon, the pregnancies that ended before their time, and the angels born asleep.

Like Rachel, my loss took the form of an early miscarriage (I share her hatred for the term "chemical pregnancy").  My husband and I had been trying for over a year to conceive our second child.  My doctor was just getting ready to refer me to a reproductive endocrinologist.  We were trying one last month on our own.

A good friend of mine in the TTC community had just found out she was pregnant with her second child.  We'd "met" on an online forum and discovered that not only did we live in the same town, but that our children were born just two days apart.  Then we found out that they were born in the same hospital AND her mother had been my nurse!  We had talked for months about how great it would be to be pregnant together, to be "due date buddies".  When she got her BFP, I wanted so badly to follow her!  My TWW crept along.  I took a test and didn't see anything.  I posted a picture online (do all TTCers take pictures of their peesticks?  It's not just me, right?) and a few people with much better eyesight than I have been blessed with thought they saw a little something.

The next morning, I tested again.  This time I could see it too!  It was very faint, but it was positive!  My husband and I were over the moon!  It was the day before Father's Day and we were ecstatic to receive such a gift!  My friend and I were going to have both children the same age and we couldn't have been happier!

But that happiness, that heavenly feeling, was short-lived.

The day after my BFP, I took another test and was pleased to see a darker line, but disappointed that my digital test was negative.  I reminded myself that digital tests aren't a sensitive, it was probably just too early.  That afternoon, I noticed a tiny bit of spotting when I used the restroom.  I was nervous immediately, but I kept telling myself that bleeding isn't uncommon in the first trimester.  I reached out to my friend, who said the same thing.  It would be okay. It just had to be okay.

The next morning, I didn't take a test.  Maybe part of me just didn't want to know.  I felt alright, I was even having some symptoms already, and I hadn't had any more spotting overnight.  I went to work and started looking for an OB.  I called and made an appointment, even chatting anxiously with the nurse about how I'd had a little spotting and was just so nervous and excited.  She reassured me that it's normal, it's probably nothing, don't worry unless it's heavy or accompanied by cramping.

Monday afternoon I noticed a little more spotting.  By Tuesday morning I couldn't avoid it any longer, I took another test and my heart sank.  The line was light, extremely light.  I took another test, but got the same result.  In complete denial, I decided maybe they were a bad batch of tests, so I took my last remaining test, a digital.  Negative.  Tears immediately sprang to my eyes, but I pushed them back.  I picked up my phone and called into work, then called the OBs office where I'd scheduled an appointment. They agree to have me come in for a blood test.  The day seemed to go in slow motion.  Drive to the doctor's office.  Don't look at the pregnant bellies.  Don't look at the adorable toddlers and infants in the waiting room.  Go to the lab.  Have blood drawn.  Go home. Put feet up. Drink water.  Ignore the cramping.  Don't think about the bleeding--it's bleeding now, not just spotting.  Go online, read message of support from my friends--Don't give up!  It's not over!  Go to bed to escape.

The next morning, I texted my boss telling him I'd be late.  I waited for a call, but I didn't make it very far before I cracked and called to beg for my results, even though I already knew.

"We got your test results in.  You were never pregnant. Your HCG level was only 3.  If you had been pregnant, it would still be higher."

 I couldn't even think.  I saw those perfect pink lines.  I felt the symptoms, the breast tenderness, the gas, I FELT PREGNANT.  She had to be wrong.

I realized later that she was.  It was a callous thing to say, and obviously not true.  False negative pregnancy tests aren't possible.  She only managed to make me feel worse as I dissolved into tears at a loss she didn't even recognize.

I told my husband and my mother.  I cried.  I told my son, who wasn't quite 2 1/2, but knew mommy had a baby in her belly and knew mommy was sad.  I cried.  I got up, got dressed, drove to work.  I cried.  I told my boss.  I cried.  I worked, desperate to concentrate on anything else.  I cried any time anyone asked how I was.  They didn't know, but I cried, so I had to explain. As the hours and days went on, I found that sharing helped. I ended up sharing my loss with more people than I'd been able to share my joy with.

Many people probably didn't understand my grief. I had only known I was pregnant for four days.  But I wanted a baby so badly, and as soon as I saw those two pink lines I wanted THAT baby.  I was devastated that I would never know my baby, never get to see my baby grow and learn.  My heart broke to think I'd never hold that baby in my arms. 

Since I didn't know if my baby was a boy or a girl, I've always simply thought of him or her as Butterfly.  I've always adored butterflies and they've always held a great deal of significance to me.  I felt like this beautiful little spirit flitted into my life for such a breif time, and since butterflies are thought to only live a short time, it seems fitting. 

So tonight at 7:00 pm, I lit a candle for all the sweet babies lost too soon.  And I lit another one for my Butterfly.

A Silent Loss

There are many types of loss. Some involve the loss of someone naturally or due to illness or injury. Some happen in old age, while others in early years. Some even happen silently, almost without notice.

That's a chemical pregnancy – or, as I prefer to call it, an early miscarriage. It happens silently in your body, without much sign or symptom, almost as though it's not happening at all.

Some people argue that the less you anticipate a pregnancy, or the shorter your pregnancy, the less it hurts. Some people think miscarriage is nothing to grieve at all, whether it's in the first two weeks, or in the last two weeks. I don't believe those people have ever experienced a miscarriage...because, if they had, I doubt they would feel that way.

For me, the hardest part of it all was the missed experiences. I didn't even know I was pregnant before I lost them. I have never had a positive pregnancy test – not one. Had I not been monitored by my doctor I'm sure I wouldn't even know I had miscarried. I never got to surprise my husband with the news, or share it with my family. All I ever got to tell them was I've lost. I sat there, wondering how someone so consumed with fertility could possibly miss those short few, precious days I was given as a mother. Those few days that I should have treasured and remembered – and I didn't even know they were there. I missed out on the only life any of my babies had, and then they were gone.

It was shocking to me how deeply hurt I was. I admit, I was one of those people who thought if you didn't know you were pregnant it couldn't hurt that bad. But I was wrong. Being in throes of infertility, every second of my life was consumed with trying to get pregnant, or fantasies of actually getting pregnant. I had dreams and plans and wishes for my future children. I had names picked out and nursery themes planned. Then, when I found out their precious lives had come and gone without my notice, I was devastated. As time went on and I began to realize I may never have a living child, I was even more devastated. Though time has lessened my pain, it is not gone. It will never be gone.

No loss is easy to bear. No loss is painless. No loss is forgettable. They all leave a footprint on our hearts, and an ache in our chest. Some of the footprints are larger than others, but they're all there. All just as deep, all just as clear. 

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month

In October 1988, President Ronald Reagan established October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, with October 15th specifically set aside for a remembrance day.  He said, "When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, the are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn't a word to describe them.  This month recognizes the loss so many parents experience across the United states and around the world.  It is also mean to inform and provide resources for parents who have lost children due to miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, molar pregnancy, stillbirths, birth defects, SIDs and other causes."

I read this statement on http://www.october15th.com/.  It really resonated with me.  It's so true. There is no title for a mother or father that has lost a child.  In fact, if the couple has no surviving children, most of the time they wouldn't even be considered a parent by many people, especially in the case of a miscarriage.  How terribly wrong.  Losing a child is a pain that is beyond compare.  It goes against nature, against how things SHOULD be.  A parent should never have to bury their child, they should never know the pain of living without them.  Maybe it's silly to say, we all know it happens all the time.  But you would think that an awful thing like this would at least have a name.

In October, the online community of those effected by pregnancy and infant loss comes together to recognize all the babies we have lost.  Whether lost only a few days after conception or after several months of life, we remember our lost babies. 

This October I remember the baby I lost far too soon.  The baby I'd wanted so badly, gone almost before I knew I had it.  I grieve for what might have been.  I wonder if my baby was a boy or a girl, what he or she would have been like. 

I also grieve for my mother's first child, the sister I never met, who died at only five months. 

I grieve for every mother and father that has lost a child.  There are far too many of us. 

Throughout the month of October, our contributors will share their stories of loss on this blog.  I would like to invite all of our readers to do the same.  You can submit your stories via our contact form, or send an email to askaninfertile at yahoo dot com and I will post them here.  You can chose to remain anonymous if you would prefer. 

At 7:00 pm on October 15, candles will be lit around the world in remembrance of our lost children.  Let's share our stories.  We can honor all of the angels gone too soon.

What to never say to someone who just had a miscarriage.

October is Pregnancy and infant loss month, so to honor it, I will make a list of very, very stupid things I have been said after a loss that should never ever be said to a grieving mother.

Seriously, take notes.

Oh, Miscarriages are common in the first trimester.

While we KNOW it's true...it doesn't make it hurt less. Using this sentence is a real slap in the face...think of it as a " Oh, it's not bad really, happens all the time." NEWSFLASH: It is bad. It does hurt. It is still a child that passed away, even if he was just alive in our womb. It was alive and that is all we needed to know to feel love for it. I know you mean that as comforting...but trust me, it is not.

I know what you are going trough.

No, you dont. Simply because not everyone is the same. Simply because we do not deal with things the same way. You may have lived a similar situation but you can't know how I feel and what I am going trough. Once again, this is said in sympathy, I get it. I was guilty of saying that before too, when I didn't know better. It is not comforting though. It is infuriating.

You were barely pregnant, get over it!

Do I need to explain why this one is stupid? Seriously. Gee, thanks! ( And yes, someone actually told me that one haha. Woo.)

When I had mine( miscarriage), I did not cry as much.

As stated above, not everyone grieves the same. If the mother feels the need to cry, by all means let her. It means she is comfortable enough around you to actually let you see her sensitive side and trusts you enough to share her vulnerability with you.

Now here is a list of what to say and do for a person who just had a miscarriage.

Listen

Let the mother cry, vent, yell or just talk. She needs it. She needs someone to for once shut up and just listen to her instead of someone trying to tell her how she should be acting.

Be there

As simple as that. Just be there if she needs a hug, help around the house, extra kleenex or a huge tub of ice cream.( She is more likely to share said Ice Cream...unless she is me. But that is because I am a fat ass and love ice cream too much.)

Take her out

Get her out of her house and do something fun. Whatever it is. Oh she might start talking about her baby and her pregnancy. She might cry...but do option one and two.

"So, How was your day?"

That simple. Ask her how she is. Ask her how her day went. If she needs help. Ask her anything but with sincerity and interest. Have a mundane discussion. Even if you want to know about the miscarriage, don't ask. If she wants to tell you, she will.

Unexplained Infertility

Labels.  They are everywhere.  As much as we try not to, we are always using them.  During my struggle with infertility, I "gained" this label.

Unexplained infertility, meaning that if there was a reason I wasn't getting pregnant, they couldn't identify it.  This is a label you get if all the tests that are run produce normal results.  My husband's sperm analysis was normal, as were my blood tests for insulin resistance and my baseline ultrasound. My estrogen, prolactin, FSH (follicle stimulating hormone), and TSH (thyroid stimulating hormone) levels were all fine.  It appeared that I ovulated on my own, based on my progesterone levels late in my cycle.  And yet, I wasn't getting pregnant.

I found that not having a reason, not having something to blame, was frustrating.  If you don't know what you're up against, it can be difficult to fight it.  At first, my RE (reproductive endocrinologist) thought that a round or two of Clomid would do the trick.  It would give my body a little boost, maybe help timing a bit.  When that didn't work, he suggested an HSG test. (Click here for a definition)  The test showed no major abnormalities, although my left fallopian tube did not fill with dye.  My RE was sure that this was because I have experiencing some pretty substantial cramping during the test (look for a post describing my HSG experience soon).  I trusted him, and we carried on, bolstered by the knowledge that many woman have a higher chance of conceiving shortly after the test is done, usually because small blockages and debris could be flushed out by the test.  Around this same time, I told one of my nurses that I was having spotting leading up to my period, around 11 or 12 days after ovulation. Dr. B decided to having me take progesterone supplements during my leutal phase.  Progesterone is a hormone produced by the body, the level of which rises after ovulation.  If a woman becomes pregnant, the corpus leuteum cyst, which is left behind after the follicle releases the egg, is maintained by the HCG (the pregnancy hormone) in the blood, so it continues to release progesterone.  If the body doesn't start producing HCG, the progesterone level falls and the lining of the uterus is shed.

Dr. B theorized that perhaps I was a late implanter, meaning for one reason or another, an egg takes a little longer to travel to the uterus to implant.  If it took longer than 11 or 12 days, it was possible that my uterine lining was already beginning to shed before a fertilized egg could implant there.  By having me take supplements, my progesterone level stayed up, and I didn't start my period.  If I tested negative for pregnancy, I was to stop taking the progesterone supplements and my period would start 2 or 3 days later.

Two months later, we switched to Femara.  I responded well, ovulating earlier than even on Clomid.  My normal ovulation was sometime between day 18 and day 22.  This isn't necessarily indicative of a problem.  Most woman ovulate anywhere between CD 11 and 21.  Fertility drugs made me ovulate sooner in my cycle.  Later ovulation can sometimes point to poor egg quality, but not always.

After our first round of Femara, when I found out I wasn't pregnant, I went in for my usual ultrasound. While I was there, I expressed my frustration to one of the nurses.  She was very nice and suggested we do a more monitored cycle and try a trigger shot, which would better time the moment of ovulation and make it stronger.

That month, we conceived.  Did lengthening my leutal phase help me get pregnant?  Did ovulating sooner in my cycle help me conceive? Was it just chance? We can't be sure.  Since we didn't know what, if anything, was behind me inability to get pregnant, we will probably never know, unless a problem arises.  It's possible we could go on and have more children easily.  But we could also experience the same problems.

The point to this post is this:  Fertility issues like PCOS, endometriosis, and low ovarian reserve are fairly well known and if the correct tests are done or if symptoms are noted, the are usually quickly identified and treated.  Less obvious issues (whether there is a known medical reason or not) can also lead to years of infertility.  Maybe a lot of woman labelled with unexplained infertility have a medical issue that just can't be identified yet.  Science has come a long way, but we are constantly hearing of new developments, tests, and treatments, perhaps someday there won't be so many people with this label.  I certainly hope so.  And I applaud doctors, like my own, that try to treat the problem, even if they can't really identify it.  I don't think I'd have my second son if not for them.

Secondary Infertility

In addition to my label of unexplained infertility, I had the bonus label of secondary infertility.  This means I had already had the successful pregnancy and delivery of a living child, but was now experiencing a loss in fertility.  When I first began to explore the online community of infertility, I wondered if I'd be accepted.  After all, not only were they unable to find a reason why I wasn't getting pregnant, I already had a child.

My first was conceived 8 months after I stopped taking birth control pills.  Studies show that around 85% of couples will conceive within the first 12 months of trying (source BabyCentre).  Age, overall health, weight, and many other factors contribute to a person's chances of getting pregnant, infertility issues aside.  Since we'd become pregnant with our first son well within that "average" time, I wanted to believe that we'd get pregnant easily the second time.  Maybe even sooner, since I wasn't on any hormonal birth control when we started trying.

However, I had approached it with my husband that we should start trying sooner, rather than later. It's funny, I'd forgotten about that when I wrote my introductory post.  Looking back, I remember now that something in the back of my head doubted that it would be so easy.  Perhaps it was the pessimist in me. Perhaps it was women's intuition.  I don't know, but looking back, I'm glad we didn't wait.

So as I started reading blogs of women suffering from infertility, posting on a TTC site where many of the women had some form of infertility, and blogging about my own struggles, I wondered if I would be looked at differently.  I wondered if having a child meant that I wasn't a true "infertile".  Isn't that strange?  Being an infertile wasn't something I "wanted", but I guess it was more of needing that acceptance, of knowing that my struggled mattered, even though I was lucky enough to have a child already.

I certainly don't compare my experience with infertility to others.  It's not a competition.  To me, if you want to have a child (assuming of course that it's for the right reasons and you have means to support them etc etc) you should be able to have one.  Certainly, I think that the childless woman struggling with infertility has a very different perspective and has experienced a very different pain that I have.  The woman with multiple losses, the woman devastated by a stillbirth, the woman who has tried for years with NO pregnancy at all, they have certainly suffered more than I.  When I received the heartbreaking news that I had lost my pregnancy in the summer of 2011, the first thing I wanted to do was hug my son.  I was thankful that he was there with me, it was such a comfort for me to be able to look at him and feel his little arms around my neck.  I recognize that not all woman experiencing a loss have that luxury.  And not all losses happen early, like mine did.  There is certainly a whole range of pain and severity when it comes to infertility. I just wanted to know that my frustration and my pain mattered.  I just wanted to know that I would be accepted.

Accepted to a club that none of us want to be a member of.

I was, I AM accepted.  We all are.  There are no rules, no standards.  You don't have to meet any criteria.  No children--multiple children--medical infertility--unexplained infertility--no losses--multiple losses.  We all belong.

Welcome to Ask An Infertile!

Welcome to Ask An Infertile!  I'm Melissa, and I created this blog because in my opinion there can never be enough resources and outlets on the subject of infertility, TTC, and pregnancy loss.  I am hoping that this blog will because a place to get information about all forms of infertility.  So many woman have questions, and what do we do in the 21st Century when we have questions?  We Google it, of course!  I know I do.  So again, why this blog?  Well, to answer that, I think I'd better start off by telling you a little more about me.

Today, I'm a 31 year old working mom to two incredible little boys, living in Indiana with my wonderful husband of 9 years and the worlds greatest grandma, my mom.  In 2010, when my first son, Tyler, was 18 months old, my husband and I decided we were going to try for our second child, since we wanted our children to be fairly close in age.  When we had started TTC Tyler, we became pregnant about 8 months after I stopped taking birth control pills, so while I didn't expect us to succeed immediately, I didn't think it would take a terribly long time.  Six months or so, that was my guess, factoring in that fact that I hadn't been using any hormonal birth control since we'd had Tyler.

At the suggestion of my doctor, I started tracking my cycles carefully.  I kept notes on my calendar and purchased a fancy little app on my smartphone.  At that time, my cycles were a little irregular, though not alarmingly so.  Sometimes it was 28 days long, but it could go as long as 37 days.  One thing that became clear pretty quickly was that I wasn't sure when I ovulated.  Over the next few months I tried various methods of predicting ovulation.  I charted my BBT (basal body temperature).  I checked my cervical position (I was terrible at that).  I monitored my cervical mucus (ew).  I eventually turned to using OPKs (ovulation predictor kits).  For awhile, even these stumped me!  The first brand I tried would turn positive and then stay that way for 5 or 6 days! 

When I had been trying for about 7 months, I turned to the internet for advice and support.  I found an online forum and I was suddenly thrust into the world of infertility and TTC on the internet.  I was amazed that not only did others feel like I did, but A LOT of others did!  I started making some incredible friends and following their stories.  Suddenly TMI didn't exist!  We talked about our bodily fluids, we talked about BDing with our SOs and DHs (that's baby dancing with our significant others and darling husbands).  We took pictures of our peesticks and scrutinized them together, fiddling around in photo editors to try to see if that might be a line?  We shared the disappointment of another BFN (big fat negative), gave each other advice, and on good days, shared in the excitement of a friends BFP (big fat positive).  We offered sympathy and encouragement.  Suddenly I wasn't alone in this strong desire to have a child.  And that felt nice.

As nice as it was to have support, I was still getting frustrated.  In April 2011, I visited my primary care "doctor", A, who is actually a Physician's Assistant.  I'd been seeing her for many years and just absolutely ADORED her.  She was her usual awesome self, listening to my frustration, letting me let those few tears fall.  She even shared with me a little of her own struggle for children.  She sent me on my way, asking me to try one more month of charting my BBT (I'd given up on it a few months prior), and telling me to come back for a referral to a specialist if I wasn't pregnant in May.

Just my luck, during that crucial week in May I was sick as a dog with a fever.  Dutiful little patient that I was, I trudged into June, knowing I needed real data to bring back with me.  On June 17th, I posted a picture of my negative pregnancy test, saying I just wanted to get my period over with and go back to see my doctor.  Then a member of the forum said she thought she could see a faint line.  Then another agreed.  And another.

I should interrupt myself here with a note--I have TERRIBLE eyesight.  I've worn glasses since I was a toddler.

Anyway, I hadn't seen anything on the test, but that really didn't mean much.  A few girls edited my photo and yes, maybe that was the start of a line?  Only time would tell.

The next morning, I dutifully POAS (peed on a stick).  And there was a faint, but visible second pink line.  It was the day before Father's Day, May 18th, 2011.  It had taken just over a year, but I was pregnant!

But then, so soon after that exciting moment, I wasn't anymore.  I spotted a little bit on Sunday, but my HPT was darker, which comforted me.  Then I spotted a little more on Monday.  On Tuesday, four days after my first true positive HPT, I took another test and the second line was barely detectable.  I went to the doctor and had a blood test, then went home, put my feet up, and fought from assuming the worst.

Unfortunately, the next morning my worst fear was realized.  My hcg level was already down to the point where they considered the result to be negative.  The nurse actually told me I'd never been pregnant at all.  I was completely devastated.  I sat down and cried.  I drove to work, crying.  I worked, alternating between tearing up every time anyone said hi to me, to trying my damnedest to think of ANYTHING else.  I ended up telling more people that I'd miscarried than had known I was pregnant in the first place.  I felt totally cheated.  And more than that, I felt an incredible amount of depression at the though that I'd gotten so close and now I had to start over.

Logically, I knew that this pregnancy had ended so early, there wasn't truly much more than a fertilized egg, some divided cells.  But in my heart, that was the potential baby I wanted so much.  That was another Tyler.  Maybe a brother.  Maybe a girl this time, a little sister.  But that was ripped away, almost before I could even celebrate it.

I mourned my loss.   I went back to see A, even armed with pictures of my positive tests.  She assured me that, of course I was actually pregnant, but that the egg probably implanted later than usual and so my HCG level never got terribly high before it began to drop.  She said that these kind of miscarriages are called "chemical pregnancies" and they are actually pretty common.  An egg with chromosomal problems, or one that doesn't implant correctly will simply be expelled by the body, which senses that something isn't right.  She said that often women don't even know they were pregnant with these.  But she also recognized that to me, to any woman trying to have a baby, it was a loss, and it was okay, natural even, to be sad about it.

She gave me a referral to a specialist, a reproductive endocrinologist (RE).  As a matter of fact, the same RE that had helped her get pregnant with her little girl.  I called him and made an appointment for the next month.

The cycle after my miscarriage was painfully slow and, well, painful.  I had heavy bleeding and terribly cramps, but it only last about 6-7 days.  I was still using OPKs and instead of a positive result somewhere between CD 18 and CD 22, it was CD 28 before I got a positive result.  I had heard that a miscarriage, even an early one, can mess up a woman's cycle.  Yay.

On July 20th, my husband and I went to see my RE, Dr. B.  I liked him immediately.  He was very understanding and listened carefully, asking thoughtful questions.  He said based on my history, I probably just needed a little "boost" to get pregnant again.   And I learned that since I had one child, I was experiencing what is called "Secondary Infertility" meaning I hadn't had trouble conceiving my first child.  I would later learn that my infertility is also considered "Unexplained Infertility" since a cause for me not conceiving easily was never discovered exactly, although there were a few minor things that I think contributed to it (shorter than average leutal phase, indications of late implantation, low progesterone).  He also told me that although there would be times that I would be disappointed, to try not to be discouraged, because together we'd get through it.

First order of business when seeing an RE is a whole mess of tests.  My husband submitted to a sperm analysis, which came back fine.  I had a glucose tolerance test, and ultrasound, and several blood tests.  Everything came back normal, so Dr. B prescribed me a pill called Clomid.  Clomid is a fertility drug that can cause ovulation in someone who isn't ovulating regularly or can encourage a healthier ovulation in someone like me, who is ovulating, but not at the best time of the cycle (Later ovulation can cause the quality of the egg to be lower). During that time, I was also put on progesterone supplements during my leutal phase, since it was on the shorter side and my RE thought I might be getting my period before an egg had the chance to implant. I eventually did four cycles on Clomid.  While I ovulated on day 15 or 16 each month, we did not get pregnant.  Eventually, I had a test called a Hysterosalpingogram or an HSG.  This is an X-ray test where dye is injected into the uterus so that they can see if there are any abnormalities in the uterus or fallopian tubes.  My result was normal, aside from my left fallopian tube not filling.  My RE attributed that to the cramping I experienced during the test. 

During our final cycle of Clomid, we met with Dr. B again to discuss our options.  We could try another pill, called Femara (Letrizole), which is similar to Clomid, but some people respond better to.  Or we could switch to injection hormones, which are more effective, but carry a higher chance of multiples and, usually, a higher price tag.  After checking with my insurance (which covers some fertility treatments and test, but not all), we decided we would start with Femara and save up money to try injections in a few months.

Month one of Femara passed with Christmas 2011 and a BFN.  In January, we decided to do a more monitored cycle.  Basically that meant that I would return to Dr. B's office for a second ultrasound (I had one every month around CD 3 to check for cysts and things) a few days before I expected to ovulate.  At this appointment, they would check the lining of my uterus to make sure it looked thick and healthy, but not too thick and they would check my ovaries for follicles.  They would also have me inject a medication to trigger a stronger ovulation, called an HCG trigger shot.  This basically mimics the surge of LH (ovulation hormone) in the body, causing all mature follicles to release their eggs.  On CD 13 my ultrasound showed good lining and two follicles that showed promise.  The next evening, I injected $85 worth of medication into my muffin top (LOL) and hoped for the best.  Oh, and a fun side effect of this shot?  Since it contains the pregnancy hormone, you get a positive result on an HPT!  I just had to try that out!  I watched the lines fade, but I wasn't sure they had totally vanished.  Finally, with doctor's orders to test 14 days after my injection, I was excited and terrified to see two pink lines!  I rushed to the doctor for a blood test and was told that my HCG was 12.7.  And I was told that was "probably pregnant".  Luckily, I was able to return with confidence two days later for another test, encouraged by darkening lines on HPTs.

So that's my story.  It took 19 months, an early miscarriage, four rounds of clomid, an HCG two rounds of femara, a trigger shot, many progesterone pills, countless ultrasounds and a lot of home pregnancy tests on OPKs, but I was pregnant.  I was truly blessed to give birth to my second son, AJ, in October 2012.

So.  Yes that was a pretty long story.  Anyway, if you're still with me (please stay with me!), that brings us back to the present.  My sons are 4 1/2 and 10 months, but I still reflect on my journey and how it changed me.  I was "lucky", really.  I've read so many blogs, heard so many stories that was much more arduous than my own.  So many people are still struggling, have experienced grief and pain so far beyond what I had felt.  And even as time passes, I still feel very drawn to this community.

During my personal struggle, I wrote on my personal blogger blog, but I also contributed to a blog on a popular website called Countdown to Pregnancy.  I told my story, the same story as is written above, but with more detail.  And when I finally became pregnant, I stepped away.  But every once in awhile, I still get a notification that I have a new comment.  I got one today.  It was from a girl looking for advice.  I responded and then I started thinking.  I LIKED this.  I was kind of GOOD at this.  I may not have had the most harrowing story to share, but it was one that was related to and I really enjoyed sharing what I knew.

And so, Ask an Infertile was born.  So to speak.

I don't pretend that this is a new idea.  But as I stated way up there at the top of this very long post, there really can't be ENOUGH resources out there.  So here we go.