Part 22

The Two Week Wait…or what the interweb machine fertility message boards call the “2WW”.  It is easily the most stressful part of fertility treatment.  The 2WW is the two weeks from the time the eggs are retrieved (read: “sucked out”) to the time that you do a blood pregnancy test  – and ultimately see if the last 4 weeks of your life were a worthless roller coaster or the best investment you’ve ever made.

Fertility doctors and nurses alike will tell you, “Stay off the internet” during this time.  It does absolutely no good.  However it is an almost impossible feat.  You’re body is still going through all sorts of weird crap – and in a whole new way.  You’re pumping your body with a DIFFERENT type of hormone, an egg could be attaching, or a multitude of other things.  Weird crap just happens.  It’s hard not to want to “Google” every little pain, bowel movement, dizzy spell, upset stomach, sleepless night, weird dream, and odd colored discharge.  You over think every movement.  Did I lift too much?  Did I bend too much?  Did I push too hard?  Are these pants too tight?  Did I laugh too hard?There’s no caffeine, no medicine of any sort (even advil), and, of course, no alcohol.  You find yourself in a perpetual Kegel exercise trying desperately to “hold those babies in”.

It’s the worst part of IVF.  It has to be the biggest medical mind-fuck that’s ever happened.

All you want to do during the 2WW is take a pregnancy test and find out if it worked or not.  But that would do no good either – you’re pumped with so many hormones you’d get a false positive.   When you’re not thinking of taking a pregnancy test, you’re thinking about googling every little weird thing that you “think” you feel in your body.

For those of you who know me well, you know that I am not someone who sits still easily, nor am I one who particularly likes to be told what to do.  Needless to say, the 2WW is shear agony.

Aside from the constant urge to google and run quickly to CVS while Ben isn’t looking to buy stock in ETP – I have to give myself the most painful shot of progesterone – in oil – in the butt every night.  The injections leave a knot and a bruise at the injection site.  They make your butt muscles hurt and about half-way through the 2WW I am literally running out of real estate on my butt – I have no room left that isn’t already covered in painful bruises.  Every night, it’s like a seek and find book to try and find a spot to stab myself with another 3-inch needle.

On day 7 of the 2WW, I sit down to go to the bathroom (just pee) and notice a tiny spot of pink blood-like discharge on my underwear.  I finishing using the bathroom and immediately sit down at my computer and start googling.  The verdict of the google search is mixed reviews – could be blood from when the embryo attached – or – it could be me starting my period because the embryo didn’t attach.  It could be blood from the implantation procedure – there was a lot of equipment in there (if you know what I mean).  I commit to waiting another day, not telling Ben, and seeing what happens.

On day 8, there was a tiny amount of a more reddish-looking spot.  That evening I mention it to Ben.  He thinks I should call the doctor – even after-hours – and check to make sure nothing serious is wrong.  I have Dr. Carnovale paged and Sarah calls me about 30 minutes later.  I describe to her what is going on.  She listens, asks a couple questions and says, “Jessica, women’s bodies do all sorts of things during this time.  Don’t over think it.  Just continue to take it easy and continue to follow all your instructions.  You’re still doing the progesterone shots, right?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay, call if you have more questions, but just hand in there.”

HANG IN THERE?  This whole process is taking me straight to CRAZY TOWN!

Ben does his best to try and calm me down, encourages me to lay down and to relax.  My stress is certainly not going to help the situation.  Besides, Ben’s mom and aunt are coming to town for Memorial Day weekend and we don’t need to add to the stress of that.

Ben then says, “I’ll clean the house babe.  You just relax.”

Those are words every wife lives to hear – but there’s little magic in those words today.  Instead, I head up to bed and take a nap.

Day 9 and 10 are the same, but every day a little bit more discharge and a little bit more red and a little less pink in color.  We both agree not to tell anyone what’s going on – except the doctors of course.  We don’t need anyone else on our roller coaster.  We’ll share with family and close friends once we know – and we’ll know 2 days before our 5th wedding anniversary.

On Day 11 I am full-blown bleeding.  Ben urges me to call Dr. Carnovale again, I call the number and have him paged.  About 20 minutes later, I get a call from Dr. Carnovale himself.  I tell him what’s going on, he asks some questions, and then says, “Jess, I can’t be sure what’s going on.  As long as your not in pain, there’s really nothing we can do until you take your blood test.  Women bleed for all sorts of reasons.  It could be your period starting.  You could also be pregnant.  I’ve known some women to bleed all through pregnancy.  When’s you’re blood test?”

I respond, “Wednesday morning.”

“Okay.  Just hang in there.  Call if you have any pain or any questions.  We’ll know pretty quickly on Wednesday after you take your test – and we’ll call you right away,” Dr. Carnovale says.

I hang up the phone and fill Ben in.  Ben walks back out to the smoker, where’s he’s smoking a pork butt for our Memorial Day BBQ.  I head to the bathroom to pee – this time – blood.  This time it’s not spots – it’s blood.  I’m bleeding.  I know my body – – – this is my period.

Oh God, this is my period.

I walk outside and sit in the lawn chair next to Ben.  It’s a hot and humid day.  His mom and aunt are inside enjoying the air conditioning.  I turn to him and say, “I’m starting my period.  I’m 99% sure I’m not pregnant.”

Ben puts his hand on my arm and says, “Oh babe.  Are you sure?”

“Yes.  I know my body.  This is my period.  I’m almost certain.  I am almost certain it didn’t work this time.  I’m sorry babe,” I say.  And with that my mind starts thinking about when.  When can we do the next cycle?  When can we try again?  Ben and I promised each other at the beginning of the process that we would do two rounds of IVF, then call it quits.  After two rounds we’d move on to a different way to start our family.

Ben looks at me and says, “I don’t think we should do another round.”

“What?  Why?  I thought you…”

“No,” he says, “It’s been too hard on you.  I’ve seen the physical toll it’s taken on you.  You’ve been so brave through all of this, but I don’t want to have to watch you go through all of that again.  It’s not worth it.  I wish we could have our own kids – but I don’t need a child to be biologically connected to me to be my child.  I think we should start seriously thinking about adoption.”

At that moment it was like a 1000 pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  At that point it didn’t matter if it worked.  We were going to find a way to be a family – not matter what.

With that, I took a deep breath and said, “Well let’s just wait and see what Wednesday brings.  We don’t need to make any decisions until we know if I’m pregnant.”

With that, we wait.