The definition of irony, according to Merriam Webster, reads as follows:
“3: a) : incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result; an event or result marked by such incongruity.”
Most people, most fertile people at least, would stimulate their ovaries for 10-days, have their husband’s sperm washed and then inserted via tube into their uterus, and then would expect their chances of pregnancy to be more likely than not. They, the normal people, would have absolutely no reason to believe their first IUI didn’t work. They’d probably be picking out baby names on their way home from the clinic. They might even buy a cupcake to celebrate their pending pregnancy.
But, I am not a “normal” person (though I do have a dangerous weakness for cupcakes). Every time I talk to my RE she reminds me of this fact. She’s said, time and time again, that on a natural cycle I have a 1% of conceiving, on a medicated IUI cycle I have a 10% chance, and with IVF I have a 40% chance, approximately. Stage IV endometriosis is a uterus and fertility destroying monster. So by all research doing an IUI seemed like one big waste of time, but for the fact that I got pregnant naturally in March despite the odds (and miscarried despite them too). You may or may not have read what we figured: try injectables, see how I react in preparation for IVF, shoot some sperm up the ole hoooha, all just to say we tried. One last effort before finally, almost 2-years after our journey had begun, relenting to the miracle maker that is invitro fetilization.
So here comes the irony. I expected, despite horribly sensitive nipples that I chocked up to Bravelle side affects, an outcome other than the one I got this morning when I peed on a cheapy (thank you Amazon). I did not for the life of me think I was pregnant. I was so convinced to the contrary that I had half a skinny margarita last night (weirdly I just couldn’t finish it). I was so convinced otherwise that I was already getting super excited about taking a break, socializing again, planning a trip, getting settled in a new full time job (humungo interview this week, more on that later), and of course, finishing the book. All of which I ranted and raved about in my last post about the girl with the Indian headdress and the sickeningly cool people that accompanied her (I just don’t know where they get all that energy to be soooo cool all the time). After all, I’ve been testing since 6 dpiui with very stark white negative results each time. Well life’s a bitch and she certainly does happen when you’re making other plans (God I hate that cliche saying, but it IS true). Apparently, I’m pregnant. I’ve taken three tests, two back to back and one an hour ago, all to expose a faint second line at 13dpiui. Yeah.
Please forgive me for not sounding excited, but I went through this in March. I had fully prepared myself to start IVF meds THAT WEEK only to get a BFP. I immediately started doing stupid things like taking pictures of my non-existent bump and telling almost EVERYONE I knew. I think that was the hardest part when the pregnancy ended, having to explain to near strangers that it didn’t work out (I even told the real estate agent selling the condos in my building. We’ve since become good friends, but STILL). Having to tell people again and again and again that things didn’t work out was torture. I get nauseous thinking about it, honestly.
SO here I am. Pregnant. Of course all breast tenderness is gone (wtf!?), but that could be because I did something bad. Please don’t judge, but I stopped taking my progesterone at 7 dpiui. Let me explain.
I’ve already waxed on about how I didn’t think I was pregnant (still having a hard time believing that I am, but whatever). So my thinking was, why waste these super expensive inserts when I’m probably not pregnant. I’ll just save them for IVF, I told myself. Plus, they didn’t test my levels so I didn’t even know if they were low anyway. Also, I’ve read supplementing with progesterone can mask a miscarriage. I’m convinced that doing so prevented me from miscarrying naturally during my last pregnancy (which was the result of maternal triploidy, not low progesterone). So as terrified as I am to lose another, I’m equally terrified to prolong the inevitable. I’d really rather not let hope float lazily through 7-weeks, if it’s really meant to crash and burn sooner, say at 4-weeks.
I decided to consult Dr. Google and did some research on progesterone supplementation for non-IVF early pregnancies. Here’s what I found.
A study of 2,000 women found (sorry I can’t link to the study, it’s a PDF):
“There is no evidence to support the routine use of progestogen to prevent miscarriage in early to mid-pregnancy.”
The American Society of Reproductive Medicine said something similar.
But then I also found this:
“Numerous studies have confirmed that ovarian stimulation used in assisted reproduction is associated with luteal phase insufficiency, even when gonadotrophin-releasing hormone antagonists are used. In those patients, advanced endometrial histological maturity and a decrease in the concentration of cytoplasmic progesterone receptors are observed. Progesterone supplementation results in a trend towards improved ongoing and clinical pregnancy rates.”
That study I CAN link to. Find it here.
I’m SO glad I found this because until like 5-minutes ago I was seriously considering avoiding progesterone supplementation all together. If it can’t prevent miscarriage, and rather might mask it, then what’s the point? Clearly though, I’m not the doctor and should probably listen to mine. I did stims, have a history of a shorter luteal phase, and need to pull my head out of my very uncool ass.
So before I run off to insert my progesterone like a good apparently pregnant person who used stims should, I leave with you this.
A few days ago I found the PERFECT job listing for me at a global company that makes totally cool food products. My background is in food and I’ve been working for my old company, a juice manufacturer, from home occasionally while suffering through finishing my book. I applied to this job, which has been open for over 30-days, expecting not to hear back. Yet, I got a call within the hour. My interview is on Wednesday! This would be a career making job, guys. There’s no guarantee I’ll get it (we all know how that goes), but I’ve forgone creative writing the last few days in favor of fervently researching the company I’m interviewing with and brushing up on my knowledge of food law. I WANT this job. BAD. I also wanted to be pregnant. SUPER DUPER BAD. Now, I might get both. At the same time. Not quite sure how that will work, but one thing is for sure: I won’t count my careers or my babies, until they’re hatched.