Timeline

My infertility journey starts in 2017 and a lot of the content in my timeline comes from my handwritten journals that I’ve kept throughout the process.

December 2011

I just graduated from college at The University of Texas and I meet the love of my life, Brian. There is something different about this one. I decide to ask him to a family/friend Christmas caroling party after only knowing him for 48 hours. Did I mention he didn’t know it was with my family? Am I crazy? YES. I like to make an impression on a first date.

December 2013

Two years later, at the exact same Christmas caroling party, he proposes! He got down on one knee in front of my closest family and friends. I was wondering why he was trying to get me to slow down on the wine all night…I mean is it even caroling if it’s not boozy, sing from your belly caroling?

January 2015

We get hitched! We have ALL the time in the world for babies, so we decide to enjoy this time together as newlyweds for a couple years. We travel, we adventure, and we drink all the wine. Did I mention we like wine?

November 2016

I get off birth control (BC) and we are ready to make a baby! I can’t wait for this next chapter to start. I immediately get on Etsy and order a Baby Waters Onesie to use when I surprise him with the news that we are pregnant. Because it is going to be that easy. I just know it.

December 2016 – July 2017

I never get a period. Not one. My gyno thinks it is related to my thyroid (I had a total thyroidectomy in 2013 due to a thyroid cancer diagnosis, so my TSH level is on the low side with medication so that a tumor does not grow back). We mess with my thyroid medication – no change. Endocrinologist does not believe it’s my thyroid and refers me to an RE (reproductive endocrinologist).

For anyone that complains about getting a normal period – BE GRATEFUL. Not having a period is a constant reminder that my body feels broken.

August 2017

First meeting with RE and after bloodwork I am diagnosed with PCOS – polycystic ovarian syndrome. PCOS is a hormonal imbalance where everything is out of whack. My main symptom with PCOS is that I don’t have periods and I don’t ovulate. My RE is hopeful…I’m young and healthy and he doesn’t see any issue on me getting pregnant with a little medical nudge.

August 2017 – November 2017

I undergo five medicated cycles (not at IVF yet) to help my body do what it should – no such luck as my body either doesn’t respond to the medication or it over responds. During a medicated cycle, the RE is trying to get your ovaries to produce one or two eggs that they will then force you to ovulate and then timed intercourse or an IUI is performed. I take a drug called letrozole (Femara) to help grow my little eggies, but none get big enough. I then take stimulation shots and I over-respond (common with PCOS) so we cancel the cycle because I had too many eggs growing and they don’t want me to end up like Octomom. In between all these failed cycles we take lots of weekend getaways to ease the pain – LA, Charleston, Kennebunkport, New Orleans. There’s nothing like an adventure to take your mind off of something.

December 2017

I am told that IVF will be our best option – I’m DEVASTATED, but soon accept that this is what we must do to make a baby. Within this same timeframe, I find out my beautiful, big sister is pregnant through her third IUI. How is it possible to be so incredibly happy for someone, yet feel so much pain and heartache at the same time?

Brian and I undergo most of our testing to prepare. Genetic testing, HSG, sperm analysis, etc. Everything is perfect with Brian and most of my bloodwork comes back looking pretty good.

January 2018

I have a sonohysterogram, which is a fun procedure where they insert fluid into the uterus via the cervix to examine the uterine lining.  Turns out I have some sort of blockage (most likely scar tissue) that will require surgery. Plan is to have this surgery post egg-retrieval.

I start to prepare for my egg retrieval! 10 days of Provera, a drug that induces a period…which still never comes. After that, I start taking BC to prepare for my egg retrieval, which makes no sense at all since, HELLO, I’m trying to make a baby! Turns out they want everything in the next few weeks to be very controlled. It’s not an exact science, but they want to control your body the best they can.

Injections start! At this point it feels like Christmas morning after being on prior meds just to subdue my ovaries for over three weeks now. I’m nervous, excited and full of anticipation. We are one step closer to our baby! During the stimulation process, you go in almost every other day once your body starts to respond to the meds to be monitored…that means lots of transvaginal ultrasounds and blood draws.

12 days of injectable stimulant shots and we are ready to trigger (force ovulation of all my eggs)! I have over 37 measurable follicles (follicles are fluid-filled sacks in your ovaries that contain an egg…for someone that gets pregnant naturally, one follicle would start to develop and ovulate a mature egg that’s ready to be fertilized). My ovaries are the size of a grapefruit. I’m sure you can imagine how fun that transvaginal scan was (hint hint – they have to measure every follicle). After I take my trigger shot, I must wait exactly 36 hours until my egg retrieval.

Egg retrieval DONE! My doctor retrieved 16 eggs. I was hoping for more considering I had 37 measurable follicles that were close to maturity. However, not all follicles contain eggs, so that is why there is a big discrepancy.  

Now we get to have fun watching the numbers drop over a period of two freaking long weeks.

The day after the retrieval I find out that of the 16 eggs retrieved, only 14 were mature. That’s not too bad, right? That’s what I keep telling myself anyways.

I also find out that of the 14 mature eggs only 11 fertilized. Ugh. I was hoping for more, but again everything is A-Okay. 11 is good. It could be worse.

Now we wait five to seven days to see how many make it to the blastocyst stage (this is the embryo stage right before they are frozen. Not all fertilized eggs make it to this stage). After the longest week ever, we find out that out of the 11 fertilized embryos only 6 make it to the blastocyst stage. That’s over a 50% drop. Okay, now I’m starting to worry. But 6 is still a lot. I just need one baby!

Next step in the waiting game is PGS testing (pre-implantation genetic screening), which involves a biopsy of the Day 5-7 embryos for genetic analysis. This determines whether your embryos are euploid (normal) or aneuploid (abnormal). After NINE whole days, we find out we have two 2 normal embryos and one 1 low-level mosaic embryo (more on that later).

That’s right folks, we went from 16 eggs retrieved to 3 viable embryos. Talk about a total MIND-FUCK. But that’s okay, because at the end of the day we just need this ONE baby. Maybe two if we are lucky! One step at a time.

Don’t worry, I didn’t have time in that two-week waiting period to stress about the numbers game because of a nasty little thing they call OHSS – yep, I got it. OHSS (Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome) affects only 1% of women undergoing IVF and it is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Basically, it’s when your body starts to react poorly to the HCG (a hormone that is in the trigger shot) and your ovaries start to fill with fluid. For 10 days I was in excruciating pain. I looked six months pregnant (see pics of normal belly vs OHSS belly below), gained about 10 pounds and couldn’t breathe without pain because the fluid was pressing up against my lungs. Oh and I had many bouts of projectile vomiting – lovely, I know.  I ended up having TWO fluid aspiration procedures, where they put me under anesthesia, punctured my ovaries with a fine needle and drained the fluid…they drained over a half gallon of fluid from my ovaries – YIKES.

Side note for a fun story: One night when I thought I was feeling a little better, Brian decided to get me out of the house and go to dinner down at our neighborhood bar. I couldn’t fit into any regular pants, so Brian wore sweat pants to make me feel better wearing mine. I had been on bedrest for over a week at this point, so I was excited to get out of the house. I didn’t even make it through half of my beer before waddling as fast as I could outside of the restaurant to projectile vomit all over the sidewalk while Brian held my hair back. So humiliating.

February 2018

My body is FINALLY starting to feel healed just so I can jump into my next surgical procedure. Because of the blockage found during my sonohysterogram, I need to have a hysteroscopy procedure done. For this procedure, I am put under general anesthesia and my doctor removes A LOT of scar tissue. I have no idea where this came from, but the good news is he was able to remove it all! This surgery will postpone my transfer for about a month, but I’m honestly relieved to get a little break.

March 2018

Let the preparation for the first transfer begin! Two things in your uterine lining are important for a transfer to be ideal – (1) the thickness (most research and RE’s believe anything over a 7mm, preferably 8mm, is good) and (2) the pattern (you want your uterine lining to have a triple layer pattern and my doctor believes this is the most important thing). I do the normal transfer medication protocol and for some reason my body does not respond well. My lining only gets to a 5.6mm, but I have a perfect triple layer pattern. My doctor decides to go ahead and transfer. He truly believes that the pattern is a much more reliable indicator of a viable lining, so we go for it!

My beautiful, normal frozen embryo is defrosted and implanted into my uterus. This is the best-looking embryo that I have (each embryo is graded after it reaches the blastocyst stage, from highest quality to lowest quality. They say PGS results are more important than the grade, but who doesn’t want a pretty embryo?). I am SO excited for this opportunity for a baby. We made it. We are so close now. I can envision my first positive pregnancy test and I’m starting to think of all the ways I cutely tell Brian that we are going to have a baby. It makes me giddy!

Now I wait. 10 long days of waiting. All the things that I do to relieve stress are no longer available. No working out, no baths, no drinking, no sex.

And then heartache. Our first transfer has failed. I never see two lines on my pregnancy test. My blood test is negative. I’m in disbelief. This was supposed to work. What went wrong?

Come to find out, failure is a lot more common than success. People just don’t talk about it. I wish I could have known, so that I could have prepared my heart. Hopefulness soon turns to hopelessness.

After a few days I refocus. I’m okay, I’m strong. What’s next. Just focus on what’s next and it will distract me from the pain.

April 2018

After a follow up with our RE, we decide to do a procedure called an ERA (Endometrial Receptivity Analysis) test. Five days before you transfer your embryo, you start to take progesterone shots to prepare your body. Progesterone supports pregnancy and you need just the right amount at the right time during the transfer. Well, about 5% of women need an extra 24 hours of progesterone and an ERA test can be performed to determine this. To prepare for this procedure you do what they call a “mock” cycle. You prepare just like you would for a normal embryo transfer by taking all the meds and progesterone shots, but you don’t actually transfer an embryo. Instead, they biopsy your uterine lining to see if it is “receptive” for the transfer.

Biopsy done! And after TWO freaking long weeks of waiting I get my results. You may have guessed it…I fall into the 5% of women that need one more day of progesterone. This is GREAT news! Now I have a reason for why my transfer didn’t work. There isn’t anything seriously wrong with my body – this is an easy fix!

May 2018

We gear up for our second transfer! This time we will be transferring our last two embryos. One normal and one low-level mosaic embryo. I am ecstatic! I can’t wait to be pregnant. I know this is it.

Not interested in the specifics of what a low-level mosaic is? – you can skip this part! A low-level mosaic embryo is newer to the scientific testing world. When PGS testing is done, they biopsy some of the cells of the embryo in a few different places. Think about it like a tennis ball. The fuzzy, outside part of the tennis ball is what gets biopsied. Typically, the cells on the outside match the cells on the inside of the tennis ball, but that’s not a guarantee. For a normal embryo, all the cells from the biopsy come back normal. For an abnormal embryo, all the cells from the biopsy come back abnormal. For a low-level mosaic embryo, about 80% of the cells come back normal BUT about 20% come back abnormal. What I know and what I’ve been told – low-level mosaic embryos are safe to transfer, but have a lower chance of implantation and a higher chance of miscarriage. Oh and they can also result in a totally normal, healthy baby!

I start the same transfer medication protocol. I kind of feel like we should be doing something else to get my lining thicker, but I’m no doctor. Final lining check and I’m only at 5.8mm, but again my pattern is perfect. My RE wants to go for it, so that’s what we do!

Transfer done, now the dreaded wait. I can’t help myself and I take a home pregnancy test 5 days after my transfer. I start to see two lines. OMG. HOLY SHIT! I’M PREGNANT! I am so excited that I can’t help but cry. I quickly go get the “Baby Waters” onesie that I bought back in November 2016, when I thought I would so easily get pregnant. I wake Brian up and give it to him with so much excitement I can barely contain myself.

My parents are leaving for France the next day, so we decide to go to dinner and share the news. I know it’s taboo to share a pregnancy announcement this early in the game, but my parents have been my biggest cheerleaders every step of the way. It only seems right to let them experience the same joy Brian and I feel before they leave for a couple weeks. It is important for me to tell them in person. With tears in my eyes I pull out my positive pregnancy test at the restaurant. We are all crying and hugging. I’m sure people think we are crazy, but I don’t care. All the struggle and pain felt lifted. We celebrate.

After a few days I notice my test lines weren’t getting darker. And after about 9 days the line has faded so much it is almost non-existent. DESPAIR. I am having a chemical pregnancy. How is it possible? No embryos left. All the pain, physical and mental with nothing to show for it. Thinking about all the money spent for NOTHING takes my breath away. DEVASTATION.

Brian and I spend the whole weekend in the dark. Literally. We shut all our blinds and lock ourselves in the house. We cry and grieve. It is Memorial Day weekend and we have been invited to a small get together at a friend’s house. Brian forces us to get up, get dressed and try our best to go enjoy a bright, sunshiny day. We have been there for about 10 minutes when my friend and her husband announce she is pregnant. Thank God for sunglasses. Eyes watery and breath tight, I try my best to get through the day.

I pick myself up . We will try again. And again, if we need to. I will be okay. I just need to refocus. Keep my eyes on what’s important and what’s necessary.

June 2018

It’s about time for a mother-fucking break.

We go to Austin with some dear friends who help pick me back up. No better cure for heartache than hanging with some strong women on the lake with a beer in hand.

One of my best friend’s baby is born. Holding him is a precious reminder of what I am fighting for.

July 2018

Egg retrieval numero DOS! I’ve got this. I am about to produce some amazing eggs. I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in 30 days. This is a BIG deal for me. If I was trapped on a deserted island and could only bring one thing, it would be an endless supply of wine. I’ve also practiced yoga consistently and my diet is on point. I feel healthy and strong, physically and mentally. This is how we get our family.

13 days of stims and I’m waddling at this point. Pants are no longer an option, so thank God it’s summer and flowy dresses are acceptable. Transvaginal ultrasounds and blood draws galore – like every other day. Keep in mind I am still working a full-time job with a CRAZY amount of hormones raging inside of me. Natural Estrogen levels range from 50 pg/ml to 400 pg/ml depending on your age and what day of your cycle you’re in. My peak estrogen level is at 6,352 pg/ml for this retrieval. Let’s just say Brian is a SAINT.  I’m ready to get this show on the road. 20 large follicles are growing and I’m ready to trigger!

Egg retrieval complete and we got 23 eggs! I am so excited to hear this coming out of my drug-induced sleep – I feel pretty good. Now we wait and wait and wait.

Over the two-week period of anxiety-ridden waiting, we get the news for each stage in the process.

The day after our retrieval I get the call that of the 23 eggs, 18 were mature. Okay, more of a drop than I was hoping for, but still good.

Then they tell me that and of the 18 mature eggs, only 12 fertilize. WHAT THE FUCK. Panic mode sets in. All my numbers are dropping so fast. This can’t be a good.

After six days of waiting, we get the call that of the 12 fertilized embryos only 5 made it to blastocysts. CRAP. That’s one less than last time. Be thankful, Holly. You could have none.

Another week of waiting and we get the news that after PGS testing, 2 beautiful embryos came back normal and 2 came back low-level mosaic. So we have 4 transferable embryos. This is GREAT! 4 chances for our baby.

The highs and lows of the waiting game are unreal. I can’t fully explain the anxiety that consumes you during this part of the process, but it’s one of the hardest parts.

Oh and I did not get OHSS – praise Jesus!

I jet-setted off to my BFF’s bachelorette party where I indulged in my first alcoholic beverage in what seemed like eternity. I think it was well deserved.

August 2018

Preparation for transfer number three begins! For this transfer my RE decides we should do an endometrial scratch. An endometrial scratch is a procedure that is done at the beginning of your cycle where a sharp tool is used to scrape the top layer of your uterine lining. The idea is that it will wake up the cells in your uterine lining, help with blood flow and make your lining more receptive to the embryo.  I think I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but this 60 second procedure makes me almost pass out. It is awful. Almost UNBEARABLE.

We discuss with my RE, and while he still seems very confident that my thin lining should not hold us back, we all agree to try something different. People swear that vaginal Viagra will do the trick. My RE isn’t convinced, but he fills the prescription anyways (I think just to appease me). What is vaginal Viagra you ask? Well, it’s Viagra. And I insert it vaginally. Oh it it’s $900 for 9 pills. The things we do to try and have a baby. Am I right?

With all the fancy Viagra I still only got to 5.8mm. I’m not going to lie, when you put this much physical, mental and financial effort into something, it is gut-wrenching to not have the results you were hoping for. It’s a constant cycle of hope and disappointment. Cue the tears.

Even though my lining is thin, my pattern is perfect and my RE wants to move forward. So we do! We transfer a perfect embryo in maybe a not so ideal environment. But I am just happy to keep going. That’s how I can survive this. I keep going or else I’m stuck having to think about everything.

FAILURE. Not pregnant. Total devastation. Lord help me. The only thing I know at this point is keep going. Pick yourself back up and go right into the next cycle. I don’t know how else to function.

My sister’s beautiful baby girl is born. I am so in love. It’s another reminder to keep fighting.

September 2018

Time to start prep for transfer number four. I finally convince my RE that we need to do something else. We need to get my lining thicker. I’m starting to get paranoid. Why aren’t we doing everything we possibly can to thicken my lining? Everything I am reading online says that an ideal lining is over 7-8mm. While my doctor says this is ideal, he also says it is not necessary. He says that women with thin linings like me have successful pregnancies. I have friends whose doctors cancel cycles for linings thicker than mine. The only thing I feel like I can do is trust my doctor. I’ve heard one other thing that has brought success to ladies in my situation. A stim cycle. Not an egg retrieval, but taking the same stimulation injections with the hope that my lining responds better. My RE warns me of the side effects, but I don’t care. I can take all the physical pain in the world, but I’m fading mentally and emotionally. This strong IVF warrior is starting to feel weak. I am starting to lose steam. How much longer can I do this? We have been at it for 14 months now.

I start with the dreadful scratch – this time with Xanax. That helps. My RE hesitantly agrees and I begin stim shots. It is a guessing game. How much do I need to get my lining thick enough, but to not overstimulate my ovaries?

14 days of stim shots and my lining does not respond. 14 FUCKING DAYS. The cycle is canceled. $2,000 in medication for nothing. Raging hormones for nothing. In those 14 days I went in six times for blood work (I literally looked like a drug addict with the bruises on both of my arms) and scans – all with disappointing news.  I tell Brian these appointments are like going to the Ninth Circle of Hell. I go in for the ultrasound and get prodded with a big stick up my hoo-ha. Then I get bad news from the nurse and somehow end up screaming at her, because I need to take my hormonal rage out on someone. I try really hard not to cry while I check out at the front desk. Best to not make eye contact or I might lose my shit on the person making me pay for this torture. I keep trying to hold my shit together while I wait to get my blood work done, which typically includes other crying women in what I will call the Room of Tears. Then I get into my car in the parking lot and cry uncontrollably, only to have someone waiting impatiently on my parking spot. Can’t they see I NEED A FUCKING MINUTE. I exit the parking lot and pull over at the first place I see. I cry hard. It’s more like a scream. No one sees me. No one knows. I feel isolated. I feel alone. Now repeat this six times.

October 2018

It’s about time for another break.

Brian takes us on an adventure to New York City. We explore the concrete jungle. As we walk through Central Park, there is a couple singing one of our favorite songs – 10,000 Reasons. “The sun comes up; it's a new day dawning; It's time to sing Your song again; Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me; Let me be singing when the evening comes.” This is a reminder that God is ever-present in our situation. I need this. I need the reminder that I am not alone in this, that I have not been abandoned.

Brian pulls me out of the darkness. I start to feel like myself again. We decide to LIVE and ENJOY. We decide we will not let infertility steal some of the best moments of our lives.

My best friend gets married in Bay City, Texas! I soak in the sunshine filled ranch life and celebrate with friends.

November 2018

I feel good. My body and my mind needed that break, even if it was only for 4 or 5 weeks. I am ready to begin again.

Transfer number four commences (again). Another horrible scratch – Xanax to the rescue. I start taking the stim shots and after only 4 nights of shots, I’m at a 6.4mm! This is the thickest my lining has ever been for a transfer cycle. A perfect pattern and a thicker lining makes me feel like this is it! My RE is so happy and thinks we should go for it because we risk my lining getting thinner if we push it anymore. So we do!

We transfer my perfect and highest quality embryo and now I wait. I am so hopeful. I feel pregnant. This has to be it. I take a test after 5 days and it’s positive! Along with my excitement there is anxiety. I know this is just a glimmer of hope and there is still a long way to go.

Another chemical. After a few days of positive pregnancy tests, the line starts to fade. It fades until it disappears and just like that I am back in the darkness. Not pregnant after all. The ironic and sadistic thing is that the progesterone shots you take make you feel pregnant. It’s gut-wrenching.

Feeling numb. Feeling broken. Must keep going. Must pick myself back up. Back to the routine. I’ve got this. I’m okay.

I turn 31 and this birthday feels sad. Like something is missing. Thankful for a BFF that came to the rescue with a beautiful and delicious homemade cake to brighten my day.

December 2018

We have two not-so-great embryos left. Two low-level mosaics. Let’s just get this transfer over with. I am cautiously optimistic.

Transfer number five prep. Endometrial scratch: check. Absolutely terrible and the idea of it has started to give me panic attacks.

12 days of shots and another unresponsive cycle. The cycle is canceled. $2,000 of medication for nothing. Trauma to my body for nothing. Feeling hopeless. Need a break.

January 2019 – March 2019

A break. The best decision I have ever made. I had been so aggressive, so non-stop that I wasn’t aware of what my mind and body needed. Lesson learned: TAKE MORE BREAKS. We travel, we enjoy life as is with no thoughts about fertility.

We go to the Bahamas! This is our first vacation that is longer than a weekend in over two years. I swim with pigs AND sharks. I laugh until my belly aches. I have my morning bloody mary at 10am sharp. I don’t think about fertility issues at all.

We go to Mexico City and fall in love. The food, the culture, the people are a dream. We explore the city and walk 11 miles in ONE day.

And then something miraculous happens. I start my very own natural period. This is a first. Not sure what to make of it. I call my doctor and he is very excited. It is an opportunity to monitor my own natural cycle (for the very first time!) and see if my body does what it should. If I create a mature follicle (egg) then we will do an IUI. If not, then we will proceed with my fifth transfer. I am scared and anxious to go back down the rabbit hole of infertility. I do it anyways.

April 2019

I went in for my monitoring scan excited and hopeful. No mature follicle. Not even a little follicle. Disappointment doesn’t properly describe the feeling. But we have a backup plan. I will start meds (no scratch!) for my fifth transfer.

8 days of stims and my lining is about a 6.2mm. Not what we had hoped for after giving my body a long break, but it seems like that’s as good as it’s going to get. Green light for transfer. Now I wait.

Negative. Not even a hint of a pregnancy. My last embryos gone. I’ve been testing all week, so I know what is coming. As I drive to the clinic for my blood test I feel physically ill. My chest is tight. I go through the motions. The cheery front desk ladies ask me how I’m doing and I lie. “I’m good.” And then the woman taking my blood says “Oh! You get to find out today!”….insert all the eye rolls.

The dreaded “I’m so sorry, but you’re not pregnant” phone call doesn’t sting as much as I thought it would. For some reason, I don’t feel the same overwhelming sadness that has hit me in the past. Time for another break. Time to figure out what’s next.

This is my story of deep struggle and unexplainable strength during times when I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. I have not gotten my miracle yet. At times, my story is dark, but it is real. It is raw. It is the reality that I am living. AND I still have hope. There are glimmers of joy and beauty everywhere I look. I hope that you will draw strength from my story and recognize that we are all capable of so much more than we ever imagined. I am taking these next steps one day at a time and committing to LIVING instead of waiting while the rest of my story unfolds. I hope you will follow along with me as we start from scratch.