Tag Archives: D&C

New Life.

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Today is CD 1.  I started spotting late last night, and today my period officially started. I won’t lie. I’m not sad to see this cycle go.  I was happy that I ovulated only 23 days after the D&C, but my follicular phase and luteal phase both were punctuated with abnormal and unusual patterns.  For instance, I didn’t have any normal signs of ovulation.  There was scant cervical mucus.  My cervix jumped about from position to position. My libido was AWOL, but my heart feels a bit broken these days hence the AWOL libido.  Post-O, my breasts didn’t change size and they weren’t sore.  My temperature shifted but, overall, my temps were much lower than normal.  And, at ten days, this was the shortest luteal phase I’ve ever had.  I hope the miscarriage hasn’t permanently disrupted my fragile balance of hormones.

Plus, I lost my baby this cycle.  My hope for a new life. My dream of a potential future.  All of that really sucked ass.  I’m ready to move forward.

CD #1 of our twelfth cycle in the sixteenth month  feels really good.  It is time to start anew, and we are ready.  My RE informs me that by taking clomid or femara my odds of conceiving any given month jump from about 5% to 15%, which are the odds that 88.5% of fertile couples our age face during any given cycle.  That means that I should get pregnant within the next six cycles, assuming I medicate for all six. [Insert prayer here.]

This is going to be my first medicated cycle, so hold on to your pants, ladies.  Here we go.

It felt appropriate to insert some photos from our trip to the Butterfly Pavillion yesterday. I hope everyone has had wonderful weekend.

Hope.

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Hope is such a seductive and intoxicating thing. Prior to Lucky Cycle #10, I had lost all hope.  I was convinced I was in it for the long haul.  The Cyster forever relegated to the barren and infertile side of the chasm.   Which, I might add, is a bit dramatic given that twelve months of ttc as a women with PCOS isn’t that bad.  See Lucky.

This week I’ve been experiencing some strange patterns in my BBT chart.  After almost 18 months of charting, I’ve begun to think I’m really good at it.  My temps dropped just three days ago, after my fair share of hot flashes and night sweats.  This is a standard BBT presentation post-D&C.  Fantastic, I thought, I’m on my way.  I did a cleanse, my hormones are regulating, I’m going to ovulate in a short period of time – say 4 weeks from now. This morning? My temperature spiked.  This was coupled with two days worth of EWCM.  WTF is with the EWCM?!

Big Guy and I happened to have sex at the right time.  Good sex – not the “I think I’m ovulating and I think we should get this done, even though you just worked a fourteen hour day” type of sex. Sex that is a reminder that we are in love with each, appreciate each other, and want to be intimate with each other.  The type of sex that had begun to fade to a distant memory with the perfunctory, mandated, timed intercourse.

This EWCM combined with the positive and loving sex makes me hopeful.  No matter how hard I try to tramp it down, ignore it, shift it to the edge of my consciousness, the hope exists.  In fact, it isn’t just seductive and intoxicating, hope is dangerous.  If you are devoid of hope the pain, the disappointment, the drudgery, none of it is a surprise.  As a result, it ceases to be as painful.  The peaks aren’t that high and the lows aren’t that low, because the expectations just don’t exist.

But, today, I’m hopeful, and that scares the shit out of me.  Hope and I are strange bedfellows.  It is not my natural inclination, and, given my past experience with inevitable ttc let-downs, I am not welcoming the hope with open arms.  I am wary and cautious, guarding my heart carefully.

I’m sure that the temperature spike was an anomaly.  I’m sure that I did not ovulate.  I’m sure that, even if I did, I will not get pregnant.

But, what if?

Go away, Hope.

 

Cayucos.

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Big Guy’s parents visited this past weekend. They were originally planning on visiting in late April or Early May, but we suggested they come earlier.  You see, we wanted to tell them that they were going to be grandparents.  In person and for the first time.  If they waited until late April or early May, I would have been 15 to 18 weeks pregnant.  I felt as if that was too late.  Turns out they came too soon.

Big Guy’s mum really loves photos.  We just received our wedding album, and Big Guy thought it would be a good idea to plant an ultrasound on the last page of the album.  I even scheduled an appointment with the RE for early Friday morning, prior to the arrival of their flight, so our baby would be as big as possible.  We wanted the ultrasound to look more like a baby and less like a seahorse.

This is what a fetus at 10 weeks looks like.

An 10-week-old fetus has feet and arms, in fact the itty, bitty tiny feet are 2mm long.  The ears and nose are clearly visible.  A 10-week-old fetus is 1.5 inches long and wiggling around inside the uterus.  Ten weeks is not so very far from 13 weeks and 3 days, the revered second trimester, the safety zone, the time when worries can be place aside.

Instead, Big Guy told his parents, by phone, that I had a miscarriage.  They cried, and he cried.   They offered not to come, but he asked them to come anyway. Rather than hanging out in SoCal, we decided to drive up the coast.  We wanted to get away from this place, the scene of the crime.  So we went to Cayucos, CA, where we rented a house on the beach.

We had a good time.  We lunched in Santa Barbara.  We played board games.  We looked at antiques and shops in Cambria.  We took a tour of Hearst Castle.

We walked along the beach.

We sat in the hot tub and listened to the waves crash against the rocks.

We drove up and down Highway 1 soaking in the beautiful view.

For all intents and purposes, it was a finely planned mini-break.

Yet, I liked our other plan better.  I liked the plan where we picked up Big Guy’s parents at the airport after having our 10 week ultrasound.  I liked the plan where we showed them the ultrasound image of our baby in the wedding album.  I liked the plan where I was still pregnant.

However, reality lurks around every corner, and now I find myself back home.  The in-laws have departed, and here I sit all by myself, with only my thoughts and a wedding album for company.

Miscarriage Follow-Up Appointment.

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I’m meeting with my RE at noon today. Ugh. We opted to move forward with the genetic testing following the D&C so we can rule out other problems besides chromosomal issues.  However, because the yolk sac was so large, I’m pretty sure the results will reveal a fatal genetic defect.

I’ve been thinking about some questions I want to ask her.  I’ve come up with the following:

    • Given my medical history, do you think this miscarriage was a result of my specific fertility situation, or do you think it is a matter of “shit, happens”?
    • Does the literature demonstrate a higher miscarriage rate in the PCOS population due specifically to chromosomal abnormalities?
    • Do low levels of estrogen during the follicular phase, such as the case with Lucky Cycle #10, decrease egg health?
    • Do you have any suggestions for improving egg health?
    • Do you have any suggestions for reducing the chance of a second miscarriage?
    • Do you think it is time to run another round of hormone tests?
    • What about the HSG? How long can I expect both tubes to stay open?
    • Given my low levels of estrogen, do you still think Clomid is the appropriate next step? If so, do you supplement with estradiol?
    • Can we just skip the Clomid and go to Femara?
    • Can we try an unmedicated cycle supplemented with estradiol?
    • Magic Eight Ball when will I get pregnant?

Anyone else have any suggested questions? I’m hoping that my uterus and ovaries look good and that the bloodwork reveals low levels of hCG and progesterone.   As for CD 2, well, I’m still in bed largely because I know what I have to do when I get up.  Gag.