So right after our doctor told us that basically, we weren't going to have a baby, he offered up a treatment that he said would give us a 40% chance of conceiving. 40%? That's almost 50%, I'll take it (what can I say, I was desperate).
The next Saturday, we attended a class with three other couples. Here, one of the new skills we acquired was learning how to inject medications into my stomach via needle. Talk about fun! We also got a detailed calendar with our treatment plan that told us what medication and how much we would use on what day.
|Fertility Drugs/Treatment Plan|
Then we waited. We waited on my next cycle. Once it was time to begin, we called our doctor's office and the process began. For nearly three weeks, we injected medication into my stomach. As we got closer to ovulation, I started getting daily ultrasounds looking for an egg that was of the right size and ready to trigger ovulation. Once we found one, we had one more shot to give me, in the hip.
And then came the business of making sure that that egg was made into a baby! I'm leaving this part out, because well, some things are just personal. (If you want to know, you'll have to catch me at one of those perfect times like when I'm out to dinner with my family or trying to buy groceries with four kids in the cart).
About a week after the trigger shot, I suddenly noticed some severe bloating and pain in my pelvic area. The pain became so severe, I could not eat or get comfortable in any position. Eventually, I ended up contacting my doctor and they had me come in. At this point, I was diagnosed with Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS). An ultrasound revealed that my ovaries were each the size of oranges and unfortunately, there was nothing we could do about it but wait it out. Two days in, I couldn't even wear my pants because they would not button. In retrospect, I probably should have Googled and I'd have figured out that my ovaries were in overdrive and were sending eggs all over the place. Who knew?
A week went on and I continued to suffer and try to hide both my pain and bloating from everyone at the office. Eventually, I couldn't take the waiting anymore. One morning, I woke up and decided it was time to take a home pregnancy test. Low and behold, after probably 5,000 negative pregnancy tests in my lifetime, I saw two pink lines! At first, I couldn't believe my eyes. I told my husband. Later that day, I went for a follow-up regarding the OHSS. I told my doctor that I knew I wasn't supposed to test yet, but I did. He asked me what the result was and when I told him it was positive, he sent me for bloodwork. Two days later, I went back for more bloodwork. On August 2, 2012, my nurse called me to confirm, I was pregnant! (I only remember the date because it's my Dad's birthday).
About a week later, we had another appointment to confirm heartbeat and numbers. I guess maybe that was another clue I should have picked up on in retrospect but when you're living it, you only see your dream, which is to be a normal family and have a baby (although I'd be lying if I said the thought of twins never crossed my mind as being kind of cool). I remember when I told my Mom about the appointment, she picked up on it right away and said "numbers!!!! What do they mean by numbers"? to which I responded, "Mom, it's just a possibility of twins;they said it's a 5% chance" (maybe it's important to note that we already had a set of twin in our family).
That afternoon, she started calling me at the office wanting to know how it went. I avoided her calls the first few times. I just didn't know how on Earth I'd break the news to her that there were four.
Earlier that morning, my husband and I sat in an office waiting to hear our child's heartbeat for the first time. As I lay on the table, my husband sat off to the side and we both attempted to peer at the screen, which was conveniently turned just out of both of our lines of sight. What seemed like an hour passed and this sheer look of panic swept over our doctor's face. My husband and I made eye contact. Fearing the worst, we finally asked what was going on. I can't remember his exact words, because the shock hit me pretty hard, but I know that our doctor told us that there was nothing wrong with the heartbeat, except, there were four of them. And then we proceeded to hear each heartbeat. Each little answer to prayer.
The next clear memory is sitting in the parking lot in my husband's little Honda Civic, staring at the traffic passing on I-10 and wondering what to do next. Once one of us was able to form a sentence, my husband asked "what do we do now"? My answer was "we go to work. We have to work if we're going to afford four babies". And we did.
To be continued...Stay tuned for part three.