On the way to the RE’s office with DH I tried explaining to him why I was nervous. Scared that I’ve had so much hope and that certain beliefs have been a “safety net” for me – that’s not exacty what I meant, but I couldn’t find the words to explain. What I meant was, I was scared that they were going to take my hope away. I wrote to friends yesterday:

And that’s precisely what happened.

::

We waited for about 45 minutes again. This seems to be par for the course, as every consult I’ve had at this office has required a 40-60+ minute wait. A nurse did take me back for a height, weight (140.0 – with clothes on) and blood pressure check (108/68), but then it was back to waiting. While walking back with me, she said very cheerily, so you’re returning, huh?!” I gave a half-smile and let it pass.

Finally we were called in by the Doctor… and a Resident. Resident sat in the consult room with us and went over my history. Well, actually, she started with something along the lines of, “So you’re back! How old’s the baby?” I don’t really get too upset by comments like that, although it seriously pisses me off that no one reads my fucking chart. THAT bothers me. Should they not be reviewing it FIRST? But I politely pointed out that, actually, it was a stillbirth. In march. She expressed her condolences. It was a little irritating, to be honest. But then we went over the rest of my history questionaire. I just wanted to get it over with so I could talk with the doctor.

So yes, we get to the IVF part and I give her a very brief overview of my two previous IVF cycles. 24 eggs, 2 embryos, no implantation. 13 eggs, 1 embryo, stillborn baby. “Oh wow,” she says. “That’s aweful.” Yeah. You don’t know the half of it, lady. Finally she leaves so she can discuss it all with the RE before he comes in.

Now don’t get me wrong, she was a nice woman. She’ll probably make a very nice doctor some day. But after dealing with two crap IVFs and a stillbirth I’m really tired of explaining my situation. I just wanted to see the RE and get some answers.

So finally (after another significant wait) he comes in. He immediately offers condolences on our loss, with lots of, “It’s so horrible when things like that happen. It takes a long time to get over that. A long time. Are you getting support? Seeing a therapist? You should, I mean, it’s a big deal. It takes a lot to deal with this sort of thing.” And, okay, I know he meant well. But I really wanted to just snap, “Look, I know all this, I’m not here to talk about my loss, I’m here to talk to you about getting me pregnant. Can we PLEASE move on now?” I didn’t. But I so wanted to. I was polite and cordial and nodded a lot. For a moment I was really scared he was going to tell me that they wouldn’t treat me so soon after a “huge loss,” that they required me to have time to grieve. I really was scared for a minute, the way he was talking and pausing. This is the first time I’ve ever met with this doctor, so I didn’t really know what to make of his manner. (He’s a pauser. Long stops between sentences/thoughts. Drives me a little batty, to be honest.)

Finally we got down to business.

Once I knew we were on the same page about the IVF cycles and that he was familiar with the stats I basically put it out there… what the heck happened??

I did confirm that it was indeed an egg maturity problem, not a fertilization problem, as communicated to us after IVF#1. It is also not an FSH/declining ovarian reserve/egg quality issue. However I had mistakenly started thinking that it was due to the meds protocol, that it would have a simple answer. That someone screwed up and that we’d have a clear idea about what to do next IVF cycle… even what to do before even hitting IVF. I was wrong.

Basically he told us that what I have is “very rare, actually.” The problem, he said, is that there are no answers. No one in the reproductive world knows what to do in cases like mine. There has been no research. There is no data. And there is no known cure or treatment. He said he actually wrote a paper on me – or rather, my IVF cycles – that he’s going to present at a big conference sometime soon. I guess what happened spurred them to do some of their own research, and discovered that not only is it rare – he said they looked at 1000 cases, and only 12 had immaturity problems like mine – but that’s when they noticed that there is no published data. No research at all. No suggestions. I told him I’d like to get my hands on that paper of theirs. He warned me that, “There are no answers in there.” They raised questions, they did not find answers.

He said they did see that some of the women with this problem have slight chromosomal abnormalities. So he wants a full workup on me, and Den too. Just to see if there’s anything they can detect. If so, they might have to do a biopsy to check into my chromosomes further.

I asked if this immaturity problem is why we haven’t conceived naturally in all the cycles we’ve done. “Possibly,” he prevaricated. I got the sense he really didn’t want to commit to any answers about it because he couldn’t back anything up. He wasn’t going to tell me it is definitely the problem if they don’t know for sure. But to me? To me it sure seemed like a big fat, “Yes.” Most women do NOT have this response in IVF. It does not seem to be a meds issue. So what are the chances that this is NOT having an impact on the eggs I ovulate every month on my own?

All of that pretty much made my next questions pretty moot, but I asked them anyways. I acknowledged that they don’t know, that they have no real suggestions. But I asked, could we at least try clomid? Injects? Anything? I mean, insurance pays for it. Anything but ART right now. Maybe it’s a waste, but at least it’s something. And it increases the number of eggs, so maybe one would be okay right? He gave a non-commital, apologetic shrug. No answers. No direction. He suggested we wait until after the blood tests come back, meet in a month to evaluate and decide where to go from there. I pressed on, asking if there was anything I could do at all. He replied, “Eat well, exercise, be healthy.”

He walked to the nurse’s desk and got her to do up some lab slips for us. He also wanted her to check to see if the doctors had done any kereotyping on me after our loss – I know they’d done it on Devin (and he was chromosomally perfect), but I didn’t know about me. So Den and I sat in an exam room while she phoned around to find out.

I just sat down and started crying. Den still doesn’t get why I’m so upset. How can I explain? I’ve been carrying around this hope – this belief – that our screwed up IVF cycles were a protocol problem. Right from day one I’ve held the very strong belief that next IVF they’ll be able to do something different to increase our odds. And I certainly expected to walk out of this appointment with a plan in place. And since Devin’s death I have held hope for a little miracle, that the next one would just happen.

And all of that was dashed. We’re looking at getting the same crappy results every time we do IVF. No frozen embryos, ever. The doctors are stumped. We have no plan, other than, “Do what we did last time and hope it works again.” My hope in a naturally conceived pregnancy is pretty much dashed.

Like I said, Den doesn’t understand why I’m so upset. “We got no new information,” he points out. “He never said we have no chance at getting pregnant naturally. And we know IVF works.” And he’s right, for the most part. There have been times when I have suspected all of that. But there’s suspecting, and there’s knowing. Knowing is a punch in the gut.

There is something very wrong in my body. And they don’t know how to fix it.

::

This afternoon I finally connected with the woman at the bank. She offered me the job. 20 hours over 3 days per week, at a semi-close location, with benefits. I did a little happy dance when I hung up. I just felt so beat up after this morning that it was a welcome mood. I have not confirmed that their offered health insurance will cover IVF or what it will entail, but I do not see how a local bank could get out of the infertility mandate in this state. (Den’s insurance gets around it because it’s federal, not state.) It is a HUGE relief. November I should have coverage. We should be able to start IVF. My only worry with that is getting the time off, when needed, for monitoring and retrieval and transfer, when I am still so new to the job. But I’ll deal with that when it comes.

So right now I’m balancing between being totally upset and being thankful that we WILL get to do IVF and hopefully get pregnant in 2009. I guess I just need to keep my eyes on that and relinquish my ideals and hopes and dreams. I really think I’m just going to throw in the towel on this TTC thing while we wait. Maybe I’ll change my mind, but right now I’m just… done. If there was something more than a shred of hope, then fine. But now? Knowing that we do everything right and it will make no difference? There’s really no point to me tracking my ovulating and making sure we have sex on the right nights, to winding myself up in the two week wait, convincing myself that somehow this time it worked.

I have a new job to focus on, I’ll be working most of the week now. Either Mon/Tues or Mon/Wed at one job, and Thurs-Fri-Sat at my new job. Hopefully that’s enough to take my mind off everything. Hopefully it’ll give me enough extra money to go out and do something good with my life in between. I know three months is just a blip in the big picture… but every day spent waiting just hurts.

::

I start orientation at my new job on August 18. She told me that there’s a 90 day/3 month probation period before benefits kick in. Curious, I calculated what exact day the probation period would end for me, what day at the earliest I could get insurance. November 16.

It was November 16, 2005, that I got my first period after stopping the pill. November 16, 2006, was the day our insurance officially considered us infertile (our appointment with the RE was on Nov 17.)

November 16, 2008, the day I am eligible for IVF benefits, will be our three-year mark.