I am waiting.
I am unsure what I am waiting for, but I am waiting for it just the same.
I suppose I am waiting for my IPs to decide if they want to move forward and try to make Isabella a big sister again. I can not imagine the difficulty of their decision. They must weigh the odds of a successful egg retrieval, fertilization, embryo growth, transfer, and pregnancy with the devastation that will result if any of these steps go wrong. I can not imagine the anguish it must take to make this decision, and for this reason, I wait.
I want to make the decision for us, I want to decide that it is a good idea to move forward, but it is not my heart that will be broken if this next attempt doesn't work. So, I try desperately to convince myself that I cannot make the world bend to my will, and I try, with success, not to pester my IPs with questions regarding their readiness to move forward (this is a big step for me).
I am waiting.
I am unsure what I will do if they decide not to move forward. Will I find new IPs because I want just one more journey? Will my husband change his mind and decide he wants to have a child of his own? I am unsure. I know I want to do this whole crazy pregnant woman routine just one more time. I feel it. It is a need I feel deep in my soul. I sometimes wonder if I will always feel this way and need to make myself stop having babies, or if I am meant to cart around another baby for ten months.
I am waiting.
For me, this is big. For me, this is growth. For me, waiting is nearly impossible. But I am doing it. Out of love for my IPs, out of fear for making the wrong choice, out of hope for the "right" choice to manifest itself, I wait.
I am in surrogate limbo right now- I don't like it one little bit- and I am waiting.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Loss (Or, better yet, Today Sucked)
I have never, ever, ever had to write a sad post in this blog. I have been so blessed with wonderful IPs, successful transfers, healthy pregnancies, and thriving babies. I am grateful beyone words for that.
Today, that changes. Today, I write my first sad post. Today, I shed tears of sorrow for a lost life.
Twenty minutes from arriving at the clinic with my IPs and my Isabella, the phone rang- it was the clinic. We fell silent; my IM answered the phone. And the dream was over. Our plans to make Isabella a big sister died this morning with the two frozen embryos that would have been her siblings. They did not survive the thaw.
Nothing else really matters.
Tonight, my IPs grieve the loss of hope for another child.
Tonight, I grieve for them.
I am amazed again at the resiliency of those who suffer from infertility. I know my IPs will be okay; I know Isabella will be their constant joy; and I know that this family has taught me about love, and bravery, and accepting the things we cannot change.
Today, that changes. Today, I write my first sad post. Today, I shed tears of sorrow for a lost life.
Twenty minutes from arriving at the clinic with my IPs and my Isabella, the phone rang- it was the clinic. We fell silent; my IM answered the phone. And the dream was over. Our plans to make Isabella a big sister died this morning with the two frozen embryos that would have been her siblings. They did not survive the thaw.
Nothing else really matters.
Tonight, my IPs grieve the loss of hope for another child.
Tonight, I grieve for them.
I am amazed again at the resiliency of those who suffer from infertility. I know my IPs will be okay; I know Isabella will be their constant joy; and I know that this family has taught me about love, and bravery, and accepting the things we cannot change.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
We are nearly there
It is amazing how fast time flies. With a daughter going into high school this coming fall, I shouldn't be surprised at how quickly time goes by (or how old I feel!), but I am...
I was completely excited to begin my third surrogacy as a sibling project for Isabella. I knew that the many complications of finding somebody who I could trust and who could trust me was irrelevant. I knew that we wouldn't need to worry about what to put in a contract or what type of relationship we would have. I knew it was all good :)
Contracts went by in a fast blur. A few name changes, date changes, a signature and a notary, and we were done.
The drive to Houston and the trips to the clinic have been minimal: A utero-hystero-scopy-water-check appointment was offset by a lunch with my girls (see previous post), a lining check appointment turned up a beautiful and ready-to-go uterus (go my body and awesome hormone pills!), and then they gave us a transfer date.
Meds have been short and sweet: Since we are doing a frozen transfer, I am the only one cycling, and we were able to start the cycle with my body's own natural timing, and the whole thing takes only 3 weeks. Pills in the morning, pills in the evening, and I only started shots five days before transfer.
At my last appointment, my IM and Isabella came to talk to our nurse/coordinator and have lunch. While we were down ordering lunch, the IVF doctor came down to get lunch (apparently there is only one place to eat), and he got to see Isabella. He has told her parents how much he likes to see the babies he has helped to grow- and that makes me like him just a little bit more than I did before. We had a fabulous lunch, Isabella threw chicken all over the floor and ate french fries with me until her mom took them away. Fun times!
While we were walking out of the restaurant, I picked Isabella up and carried her for a little bit. I looked at her, this beautiful child I was holding, and at her mother. And I realized that not only was I going to help a couple become parents, I was going to help Isabella become a big sister. My heart filled with such love and happiness. I hugged A, blew Isabella a kiss (she kissed her hand, but hasn't quite gotten to the blowing the kiss part yet), and waved goodbye.
I came home and started my shots that night.
We have two frozen embryos waiting for a chance to grow.
I am terrified that they will not survive the thaw. I am terrified that we will show up on transfer day and they will say that neither one survived. I am terrified of having to look at the faces of my IPs at such a loss.
However, everything that has led me to this moment and the example shown to my by two sets of IPs teach me to live in hope. There is a hope that lives within my soul, that tells me that it is possible, that if it is meant to be, then these embryos will survive the thaw.
We are hoping and praying for a successful transfer on Monday.
I am excited and nervous.
My heart is full of love and hope.
I was completely excited to begin my third surrogacy as a sibling project for Isabella. I knew that the many complications of finding somebody who I could trust and who could trust me was irrelevant. I knew that we wouldn't need to worry about what to put in a contract or what type of relationship we would have. I knew it was all good :)
Contracts went by in a fast blur. A few name changes, date changes, a signature and a notary, and we were done.
The drive to Houston and the trips to the clinic have been minimal: A utero-hystero-scopy-water-check appointment was offset by a lunch with my girls (see previous post), a lining check appointment turned up a beautiful and ready-to-go uterus (go my body and awesome hormone pills!), and then they gave us a transfer date.
Meds have been short and sweet: Since we are doing a frozen transfer, I am the only one cycling, and we were able to start the cycle with my body's own natural timing, and the whole thing takes only 3 weeks. Pills in the morning, pills in the evening, and I only started shots five days before transfer.
At my last appointment, my IM and Isabella came to talk to our nurse/coordinator and have lunch. While we were down ordering lunch, the IVF doctor came down to get lunch (apparently there is only one place to eat), and he got to see Isabella. He has told her parents how much he likes to see the babies he has helped to grow- and that makes me like him just a little bit more than I did before. We had a fabulous lunch, Isabella threw chicken all over the floor and ate french fries with me until her mom took them away. Fun times!
While we were walking out of the restaurant, I picked Isabella up and carried her for a little bit. I looked at her, this beautiful child I was holding, and at her mother. And I realized that not only was I going to help a couple become parents, I was going to help Isabella become a big sister. My heart filled with such love and happiness. I hugged A, blew Isabella a kiss (she kissed her hand, but hasn't quite gotten to the blowing the kiss part yet), and waved goodbye.
I came home and started my shots that night.
We have two frozen embryos waiting for a chance to grow.
I am terrified that they will not survive the thaw. I am terrified that we will show up on transfer day and they will say that neither one survived. I am terrified of having to look at the faces of my IPs at such a loss.
However, everything that has led me to this moment and the example shown to my by two sets of IPs teach me to live in hope. There is a hope that lives within my soul, that tells me that it is possible, that if it is meant to be, then these embryos will survive the thaw.
We are hoping and praying for a successful transfer on Monday.
I am excited and nervous.
My heart is full of love and hope.
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