The house we purchased had just that- a second bedroom just feet away from our master. When we moved in, it quickly became our office/piles-of-junk-get-tossed-here room. The intentions were that someday it would be a perfect nursery.
Months and months passed by, each one marked by another negative pregnancy test. Now, I have a tendency to try to be an overachiever, and I'd always assumed my uterus would be an overachiever too. Plus, I'm young(ish) and healthy. I saw a doctor who agreed that it'd be worth getting things checked out. She cautioned us that none of the tests would be covered by insurance. Well, we did what we had to do. Thousands of dollars later, we were happy to learn that everything was normal with both of us. Phew!
But...not really. If there was no diagnosable problem, then there was no solution. I started taking Clomid, a drug that stimulates follicle (egg) production. Ultrasounds every other day showed that my body was responding well- but again, no positive pregnancy test. After a few rounds of Clomid, I had to discontinue it, as it's not safe to take indefinitely. The doctor referred us to a reproductive specialty clinic.
We jumped right in to IUI, which really is the glorified turkey baster concept. Except unlike a turkey baster, this thing cost $2000. Gulp. We kept telling ourselves that we had to do what we had to do.
After three failed IUIs, we were at a new crossroads. Do we keep trying? Everything had been going so well- lots of eggs produced, but yet no fertilization. Bills were coming left and right and it was putting a lot of financial stress on us. We could either move forward with IVF- in vitro fertilization- or look into adoption.
Lots of thinking and praying led us to determine we would try IVF, but we would be realistic. We took out a loan. When that was tapped out, we would end our quest to try to get pregnant.
One day last spring I decided that I needed to stop putting all my hope into that future nursery. Why not make it a pretty room just for me? And so with determination, I painted, stenciled, and refinished furniture to make a beautiful office. It was a happy place for me to rock in the chair and read a book, or tackle computer work at the desk while looking outside at the changing season.
The IVF process began early summer. I had a few different injectable drugs I had to administer anywhere from 2-3 times a day. The purpose of these initial drugs was to keep me from naturally producing any egg/eggs. Then after a few weeks, it was time to move into the stimulation phase. This involved the hard-core drugs. The goal of stimulation is to produce lots of eggs for harvesting- but not too many, as that can cause problems. Ultrasounds every other day confirmed that the drugs were working and I had 13 eggs. The harvesting came on July 25. Sounds very farm-like, huh? Harvesting. Eggs. Except this required anesthesia and a footlong needle that I didn't dare peek at.
Of the 13 harvested, 12 were considered viable. Of those 12, 8 were fertilized. EIGHT. Overachieving eggs apparently. Why wasn't this happening inside of me?? I had no intentions of becoming the next Octo-mom, so only two were transferred back into me (that's the max the clinic would do anyway). Then I had to do the whole lie-on-your-back-for-24-hours-with-your-hips-tipped-up thing. Please-gravity-let-them-stick!
After a super nerve-wracking two weeks, I went back to the clinic early in the morning for a blood pregnancy test. I thought for sure it would be negative. I really didn't feel any differently, and the odds of a successful IVF are about 50%. The results would be ready in an hour or so. I had the nurse leave a voicemail on my husband's phone, then I drove to his work over my lunch break. We drove to a nearby Target parking lot to listen to the message, and I will never forget how we both cried when we listened to the voicemail start with "Congratulations!" As if I didn't already love Target, now I get this added memory.
With a positive pregnancy test came many more tests and injections- this time in my butt. Fuuuuun stuff. But totally worth it knowing that it was all to keep little embryo inside of me.
I'm now at 37 weeks with a due date of April 17. Baby boy is growing fast and kicking up a storm. The nursery, girly as it is, will stay the same. Though we are thrilled to be soon-to-be-parents, we've learned that things don't happen according to our plan. We had to learn to let go of what we thought should happen, and instead accept that sometimes God's answer is "no." Whatever happens will happen, and all we can do is have faith.
