A dear friend shared this story with me after my last post:
A Beautiful Story of Surrogacy
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Hope, Alternative Family Planning and Daring to Look Forward
It does not feel good, looking forward. That pull in my chest happens. I remind myself that I do not intend to, and in fact cannot, replace Maggie and Patrick. They are, and will always me my children. But, I still want more. I want to have this house filled with the foot steps and laughter - and even occasional tantrum or slamming door - of children. My children.
It is scary to look forward and sometimes hope is hard to find. We are essentially unable to conceive a child naturally. I have been pregnant twice in my life: once through Intra-uterine insemination (IUI) and once through in vitro fertilization (IVF). I was pregnant with EllaGrace after only one round of IUI, but we tried four rounds of IUI before progressing to IVF which brought us Maggie and Patrick.
Facts in my mind relating to fertility and family planning include: our fertility requirements have become more complicated over time, fertility decreases as age increases, I have approximately a 30% chance of pPROM reoccurring, our embryos did not fare well in vitro, which meant that we could not freeze any. For all the optimists out there, I will acknowledge that I have been able to get pregnant (but for the record, staying pregnant is key).
Our solution is two pronged:
1) I will attempt to carry a pregnancy one more time. If I pPROM, I will do it all over again and hope that something is different.
2) We will not count on this. Surrogacy is our next best option and needs to happen simultaneously.
IVF is expensive and, more than anything, it is emotionally and physically exhausting. I may get pregnant. And if I do, I certainly might pPROM again. So, I cannot count on that. I cannot put all my eggs in that basket, so to speak, no pun intended. It seems like too much of a gamble to plan to go through all of IVF again and have me as the only person to carry those embryos. Especially since a full round of IVF may only provide one opportunity to attempt pregnancy because the embryos are not of high enough quality to be frozen and stored.
We want to find a surrogate who would be willing to undergo an embryo transfer on the same day as myself. This serves several ends:
If we both become pregnant, if there is a complication, there is still hope being carried in the other person. I truly believe that this could save my sanity. The anxiety of being pregnant on my own, trying to grow our family, knowing what the worst possible outcome could be, would be barely tolerable. I need hope. Or at the very least, to know we tried our best.
If we both become pregnant and give birth to living babies, then I will be able to breastfeed my child born by another woman. This is possible without having been pregnant, however, women are often unable to produce enough milk to exclusively breastfeed.
If we both become pregnant and give birth to living babies, than I have not lost as much time in 'fertility years'. My family is growing fast because there is more than one baby being added.
This also means that if IVF only provides us with embryos that have a chance during a 'fresh' cycle, that we have optimized our chances, rather than seeing how I do and hoping for frozen embryos if I rupture again. In truth, this is all about optimizing changes, optimizing hope - if I can do that, then maybe moving forward will not be so painful.
BUT, who and how and what are the chances of finding a surrogate? Sometimes I imagine that a generous, altruistic, lovely person that we know will come out of the woodwork and offer to help us in growing our family. It would be such an amazing thing to do for someone else. And truly, anyone who even considers it deserves some kind of prize for greatness. This gives me hope. Let's me look forward and still see the future we have always planned.
My hope stumbles and I sometimes lose it altogether when I reach this step of the equation. There are agencies that can help us to connect with a stranger, but that would change our pregnancy budget from $10,000 to $50,000 or $60,000. (For the record, in Canada it is illegal to pay a person to be a surrogate, but you can refund receiptable costs, which add up quickly, evidently).
Some days are better than others, as I hope that our luck will change and we will figure this out. That one day my blog-writing will be positive again.... but then, I give myself a negatively-toned, reality check because - what are the chances?
It is scary to look forward and sometimes hope is hard to find. We are essentially unable to conceive a child naturally. I have been pregnant twice in my life: once through Intra-uterine insemination (IUI) and once through in vitro fertilization (IVF). I was pregnant with EllaGrace after only one round of IUI, but we tried four rounds of IUI before progressing to IVF which brought us Maggie and Patrick.
Facts in my mind relating to fertility and family planning include: our fertility requirements have become more complicated over time, fertility decreases as age increases, I have approximately a 30% chance of pPROM reoccurring, our embryos did not fare well in vitro, which meant that we could not freeze any. For all the optimists out there, I will acknowledge that I have been able to get pregnant (but for the record, staying pregnant is key).
Our solution is two pronged:
1) I will attempt to carry a pregnancy one more time. If I pPROM, I will do it all over again and hope that something is different.
2) We will not count on this. Surrogacy is our next best option and needs to happen simultaneously.
IVF is expensive and, more than anything, it is emotionally and physically exhausting. I may get pregnant. And if I do, I certainly might pPROM again. So, I cannot count on that. I cannot put all my eggs in that basket, so to speak, no pun intended. It seems like too much of a gamble to plan to go through all of IVF again and have me as the only person to carry those embryos. Especially since a full round of IVF may only provide one opportunity to attempt pregnancy because the embryos are not of high enough quality to be frozen and stored.
We want to find a surrogate who would be willing to undergo an embryo transfer on the same day as myself. This serves several ends:
If we both become pregnant, if there is a complication, there is still hope being carried in the other person. I truly believe that this could save my sanity. The anxiety of being pregnant on my own, trying to grow our family, knowing what the worst possible outcome could be, would be barely tolerable. I need hope. Or at the very least, to know we tried our best.
If we both become pregnant and give birth to living babies, then I will be able to breastfeed my child born by another woman. This is possible without having been pregnant, however, women are often unable to produce enough milk to exclusively breastfeed.
If we both become pregnant and give birth to living babies, than I have not lost as much time in 'fertility years'. My family is growing fast because there is more than one baby being added.
This also means that if IVF only provides us with embryos that have a chance during a 'fresh' cycle, that we have optimized our chances, rather than seeing how I do and hoping for frozen embryos if I rupture again. In truth, this is all about optimizing changes, optimizing hope - if I can do that, then maybe moving forward will not be so painful.
BUT, who and how and what are the chances of finding a surrogate? Sometimes I imagine that a generous, altruistic, lovely person that we know will come out of the woodwork and offer to help us in growing our family. It would be such an amazing thing to do for someone else. And truly, anyone who even considers it deserves some kind of prize for greatness. This gives me hope. Let's me look forward and still see the future we have always planned.
My hope stumbles and I sometimes lose it altogether when I reach this step of the equation. There are agencies that can help us to connect with a stranger, but that would change our pregnancy budget from $10,000 to $50,000 or $60,000. (For the record, in Canada it is illegal to pay a person to be a surrogate, but you can refund receiptable costs, which add up quickly, evidently).
Some days are better than others, as I hope that our luck will change and we will figure this out. That one day my blog-writing will be positive again.... but then, I give myself a negatively-toned, reality check because - what are the chances?
Shoulda', Woulda', Coulda'
I have already given an account of some of my experience in Mexico, but I want to write about the thoughts that consumed me so much while we were there.
We had run away for my due date. And, perhaps naively so, I did not think that my due date would have been that difficult. Twins are born, on average, around 35 weeks gestation. And what are the chances they would be born on their due date in particular anyways? So, it is an arbitrary date... meaningless. And yet, its existence practically killed me.
Here are the basics, the core of my thoughts - my shoulda', woulda', coulda's:
Maggie and Patrick should have been born, just today, or yesterday. They should have been, healthy babies. They should have been in my arms, nursing. I should be sore, complaining and exhausted. I should be perfecting the art of nursing two babies while not neglecting my first-born. We should not be here.
Maggie and Patrick would have been 15 weeks old. Our NICU stay would have been winding down. We would have been sad to have had such a difficult start to life for them, but thankful and joyful that they were both still with us. We would have been enjoying every moment of cuddles and parenting, finally able to do it ourselves without tubes and nurses.
At the very least, Patrick could have been home. Is it too much to ask that we not be struck with so much bad luck that Maggie died due to pPROM and Patrick from brain bleeds? Things COULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT.
But they are not. So, I counted down the days to my due date. I should'a, woulda', coulda'ed my days away in Mexico. I saw other women vacationing with toddlers while they were pregnant, I saw twins, I saw infants, I saw families.... I saw baby clothes and tired parents. And every moment gave me a reason to remember Maggie and Patrick and wish that something had been different.
I cannot believe it. I still cannot fathom that it is me and my life that has lost these two little people. Two children that I fought so damn hard to have, nothing came easy to get pregnant. Pregnancy was not easy, even before the pPROM. How is this my story...? How have my tears, bargaining and wishing not changed that?
Now I look forward: they would have been 18 weeks.. or, they should have been a couple weeks old.... they should have been learning to sit, or walk, or crawl.. going to college. I will probably always have the shoulds and woulds and coulds I guess...
We had run away for my due date. And, perhaps naively so, I did not think that my due date would have been that difficult. Twins are born, on average, around 35 weeks gestation. And what are the chances they would be born on their due date in particular anyways? So, it is an arbitrary date... meaningless. And yet, its existence practically killed me.
Here are the basics, the core of my thoughts - my shoulda', woulda', coulda's:
Maggie and Patrick should have been born, just today, or yesterday. They should have been, healthy babies. They should have been in my arms, nursing. I should be sore, complaining and exhausted. I should be perfecting the art of nursing two babies while not neglecting my first-born. We should not be here.
Maggie and Patrick would have been 15 weeks old. Our NICU stay would have been winding down. We would have been sad to have had such a difficult start to life for them, but thankful and joyful that they were both still with us. We would have been enjoying every moment of cuddles and parenting, finally able to do it ourselves without tubes and nurses.
At the very least, Patrick could have been home. Is it too much to ask that we not be struck with so much bad luck that Maggie died due to pPROM and Patrick from brain bleeds? Things COULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT.
But they are not. So, I counted down the days to my due date. I should'a, woulda', coulda'ed my days away in Mexico. I saw other women vacationing with toddlers while they were pregnant, I saw twins, I saw infants, I saw families.... I saw baby clothes and tired parents. And every moment gave me a reason to remember Maggie and Patrick and wish that something had been different.
I cannot believe it. I still cannot fathom that it is me and my life that has lost these two little people. Two children that I fought so damn hard to have, nothing came easy to get pregnant. Pregnancy was not easy, even before the pPROM. How is this my story...? How have my tears, bargaining and wishing not changed that?
Now I look forward: they would have been 18 weeks.. or, they should have been a couple weeks old.... they should have been learning to sit, or walk, or crawl.. going to college. I will probably always have the shoulds and woulds and coulds I guess...
Running to Mexico
On January 25th, we ran away. We embraced avoidance, packed our bags and settled into a condo for a couple of weeks of sun and sand in Mexico.
The trip was a long time coming in some regards. In August while we sat and waited for miscarriage to start in the days after I ruptured, I said to Lee that if the babies died then I wanted a dead baby trip. Morbid, I know, but that's where I'm at (and have been for a while...). In response to others' discomfort with this morbidity the raison d'etre of the trip shifted around over time. He originally agreed to it when I suggested that the trip would not be immediately after the loss, but once we had started to heal. The trip would be a marker: we are still a family, we are surviving this and we will thrive. But, for me, as much as I wanted this to be true, it was always my dead baby trip. It was an easy decision to decide that the trip should take place surrounding my due date.
I wish that I could write this post and say that it had been healing, that I looked at my husband and living daughter, found thanks and allowed myself to take a step toward moving on. In reality, Maggie and Patrick were on my mind more often than at home. I wanted so much to be distracted and often actively tried to put them from my mind, swallowing tears and forcing myself to admire the beach and ocean instead. We filled our days with swimming, exploring, meals and visits with Lee's parents who were in the same area. But tears were never far, nor their memory.
We ran all the way to Mexico to avoid sadness, triggers... I left behind their photos, their blankets... their ashes - those tiny tokens that I hope give reality to their tiny lives..... I hoped that leaving them behind and a change in venue would give me a break. But, the truth is, Maggie and Patrick are dead in Mexico too. They are dead. That follows me; it's in me. It's that pull in my chest. It's that truth that still stops me when I laugh or try to joke. I am just not ready to be happy or to be okay. So, I wrote their names in the sand, I cried when my mother-in-law tried to take a 'family' photo - because what kind of family do I have? I broken one. One that is missing two people...
What did I gain in Mexico? I did enjoy the distractions we chose. And I always appreciate a break from the snow. I had time to sit and snuggle with my family (what remains of it). I began to think about who I am now; I have not wholly learned the answer to that question, but I know that I am not and cannot be that person I once was. For now, I notice that I am missing my ability to feel care-free, happiness-embracing, social... I certainly learned that there is no escaping the awfulness of grief and child loss. No distraction would be big or bright enough to ease that piece of me and my story. Thanks for trying though, Mexico.
The trip was a long time coming in some regards. In August while we sat and waited for miscarriage to start in the days after I ruptured, I said to Lee that if the babies died then I wanted a dead baby trip. Morbid, I know, but that's where I'm at (and have been for a while...). In response to others' discomfort with this morbidity the raison d'etre of the trip shifted around over time. He originally agreed to it when I suggested that the trip would not be immediately after the loss, but once we had started to heal. The trip would be a marker: we are still a family, we are surviving this and we will thrive. But, for me, as much as I wanted this to be true, it was always my dead baby trip. It was an easy decision to decide that the trip should take place surrounding my due date.
I wish that I could write this post and say that it had been healing, that I looked at my husband and living daughter, found thanks and allowed myself to take a step toward moving on. In reality, Maggie and Patrick were on my mind more often than at home. I wanted so much to be distracted and often actively tried to put them from my mind, swallowing tears and forcing myself to admire the beach and ocean instead. We filled our days with swimming, exploring, meals and visits with Lee's parents who were in the same area. But tears were never far, nor their memory.
We ran all the way to Mexico to avoid sadness, triggers... I left behind their photos, their blankets... their ashes - those tiny tokens that I hope give reality to their tiny lives..... I hoped that leaving them behind and a change in venue would give me a break. But, the truth is, Maggie and Patrick are dead in Mexico too. They are dead. That follows me; it's in me. It's that pull in my chest. It's that truth that still stops me when I laugh or try to joke. I am just not ready to be happy or to be okay. So, I wrote their names in the sand, I cried when my mother-in-law tried to take a 'family' photo - because what kind of family do I have? I broken one. One that is missing two people...
What did I gain in Mexico? I did enjoy the distractions we chose. And I always appreciate a break from the snow. I had time to sit and snuggle with my family (what remains of it). I began to think about who I am now; I have not wholly learned the answer to that question, but I know that I am not and cannot be that person I once was. For now, I notice that I am missing my ability to feel care-free, happiness-embracing, social... I certainly learned that there is no escaping the awfulness of grief and child loss. No distraction would be big or bright enough to ease that piece of me and my story. Thanks for trying though, Mexico.
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