Pregnancy tests

I thought for sure that we would have a baby last Christmas. It seemed only natural. When that didn't happen I KNEW we'd have our second bub by this year.

The test I took this morning suggests otherwise.

In 22 months (and about to welcome in my 23rd with a bottle of wine and a metric tonne of chocolate), I would guesstimate that I have taken over 100 pregnancy tests. 

"But why would you do that?!" I hear you cry. "Surely one a month is enough!"

You'd think that. I mean, that would make sense! You miss a period, you test. That does seem to equal one test a month.

But here's the thing, around five days into your two week wait, you feel the itch to test. Your boobs feel sorer, you're bloated, you've peed slightly more than usual, you ate a tub of ice cream and that was clearly a craving. 

So you test.

It's negative.

Ahhh, but it's only negative because you tested too early! Of course. Just test again in a few days!

So starts the cycle. You spend time squinting at pregnancy tests. You try every type of light available to you. You pull tests apart to get a better look at them. You use a magnifying glass, a microscope, The Hubble Telescope. There must be a positive there. Find it, find it!

And then, at the very end of your cycle, you take a test and the side that should have a nice pink line, the side you've been convincing yourself for the last week and a half DOES have a nice pink line, is as white as can be. It couldn't look more negative. And it breaks your heart into a million pieces.

And so you tell yourself that you won't do that to yourself again. No more! One test next month. Maybe even a digital one so that you don't have to squint at lines.

This is every month. Every. Single. Month.

I would confidently say we have spent over $700 in pregnancy tests in just shy of two years.

$700

How is that remotely normal for a person to do?

But I know how, it's because I have hope. As much as I will tell you that I'm starting to give up on the whole idea, the way I use pregnancy tests tells me that maybe I haven't. There is a part of me, deep down, that still believes this could happen for us. 

That's $700 worth of hope, ladies and gentlemen. And at the end of another month I'd rather have $700 in wine and chocolate.

That whiny, infertile woman makes an appearance.

It has been a long time in between posts. In a lot of ways that is due to my own laziness, but secondarily I don't want to feel like I'm repeating myself. But then again, 22 months of trying to conceive can be kinda monotonous.
To get my dear blog up to speed, we lost another baby in July, shortly after our daughters second birthday. Feeling very heartbroken, we decided it was time to go see a fertility specialist. While this may sound like an obvious option to most, it was actually really hard to make that appointment, and even harder to walk through those doors. It was the final act of really admitting that my body is not working, and that I need help. Anyone that knows me well knows that asking for help is really hard for me to do, I don't like doing it at all. But I did.
We saw our specialist in September for the first time. His name is Alex Eskander and he works out of North Park private. The guy is brilliant, very no nonsense and never overloads us with information. We're very happy that my GP pointed us in his direction.
So now I'm on a cocktail of fertility drugs. Clomid, Ovidrel, and progesterone pessaries. Whoa Mama, let me tell you, the mood swings are great. Just so much fun. I go from happy to bitch in under six seconds. I'm also bloated, sore and very, very tired. Basically I'm pregnant without actually growing a baby (and isn't that a lovely head fuck, especially when you're looking for pregnancy signs at the end of your cycle).
The good news is that I'm responding well to the Clomid and everything on my husbands end of the deal is looking great.
And yet, here we are. 22 months in, three of those assisted, and nothing.
I have my days where I look at my daughter and think, "That's enough, I'm happy, I should just stop." But the fact of the matter is, there is a hole in my family. Ellie would love a sibling, we would love another baby, we have enormous amounts of love to give.
I'm very fortunate to have such a good relationship with my husband, I can see how this tears couples apart. From the outside it seems like such a simple thing, you just have sex, you wait til the end of the month, if nothing, you try again. When you're in the middle of it though it's an emotional roller coaster, it's exhausting and it's cruel. And then you get to the end of the month and it's heartbreaking, and at the point I'm at now it's kind of heartbreaking, but in the most mind numbing way. I'm hurt, but  I don't even feel it properly anymore. I know how sad I am, but I can't even react because I have reacted so often and felt the deepest of sorrow for it. How many times can you cry over something before you just feel that it's a part of your monthly routine?
But we keep going. How can't we? My husband put it a beautiful way during a very hard discussion with some dear friends who are expecting a baby - it's like the colour has been drained from our world. We do see glimpses of colour (especially in our daughter who is growing so fast and we are just so in awe of her) but for the most part, things are grey, faded and worn.
And I am very tired.

The beginning of 2013

I have written this post over and over in my head over the last three weeks. The subject matter has changed dramatically in this time, but I've decided that now is the time to sit down and write. Maybe at the end of it I will find that there is a little more room in my heart and head.
The last time I posted it was about waiting for an appointment to have a D&C done. Eventually the hospital got back to me and an appointment was made for January 25th. Feeling like at least something was happening in the matter of fixing my lady parts, I went on with my life quite happily.
On January 16th my wonderful husband and took a three hour trip to Warrnambool to see the Invasion Exhibition (basically an exhibition of props and such from sci-fi shows and movies). I felt off the whole day. Woozy and sick, especially in the car, which is odd for me. On the way home we discussed grabbing a pregnancy test. I'd planned to do one "just in case" before I had my D&C done anyway, so we figured that 9 days early wouldn't hurt.
We got home, ate some dinner, then I headed to the bathroom with Ellie in tow (because apparently solo bathroom privileges have been revoked since Ellie started walking) to pee on a stick.
It was positive.
In complete disbelief I sent Rei to the chemist to grab a digital test as I've heard they're more accurate. I sat at home drinking copious amounts of water and laughing the whole thing off as it couldn't possibly be right.
The second test was positive too.
We cried with happiness. We sent texts to our closest friend and called our parents. Rei got excited at the prospect of a new pram.
I saw my doctor on the Friday, who was also happy with our news. She sent off referrals and gave me the usual tonne of reading material. She also wrote up a referral for a dating scan, which I took home and made the next available appointment for. It wasn't til the 31st, but it would do just fine.
Pregnant! I could hardly believe it! In fact, I was really feeling unsure about the whole thing. I started to worry at every little twinge, every ache. I was sure something wasn't right, but we both just figured it was nerves. After all, we'd waited so long for this!
On January 22nd we had a funeral to go to. At the end of the day I mentioned to Rei that I hadn't felt much of anything pregnancy wise all day, and in fact I didn't really feel pregnant anymore. We both figured it was just the emotion and busyness of the day.
Then the next day I felt the same.
And the next day.
By the time the 31st rolled around I was a nervous wreck. I sat in the waiting room of the scanning suites and felt sick to my stomach. Just before they called us in I heard a random voice in my head say "Everything is okay", I took that as a sign that I was definitely pregnant, and for the first time in over a week I felt at ease.
I had the same sonographer that I had previously when my ovaries were last checked. A lovely lady, very professional. First she checked my ovaries and then went on to scan my uterus. She was quiet for a minute or so and then said, "I can't find a pregnancy". She kept scanning, checking my tubes for ectopic, checking everywhere.
Nothing.
She asked the nurse to come and check with my doctor about the blood results from the test I had a week before, then they took us into a little room to wait. Maybe some of you have been in a room like it before - tiny, with a couch, tissues, dimmed lighting and a generic picture on the wall. Ours had a fake plant too. The sort of room they don't put you in to tell you good news. Rei was oblivious to all of this, and then I started to cry. I told him what this room was for, and that I hated the stupid fake plant. I apologised for having such a stupid body.
The sonographer came in after about 15 minutes and told me that my doctor had never received any results (apparently they were lost, but we found that out later). She gave me a pathology slip and asked me to go and have some bloods done and she would speak to my doctor about having repeat bloods 48 hours after to check if my hCG levels were doubling as they should be. She assured me that it could just be very early in the pregnancy, and that if they needed to get me in for a scan ASAP she would squeeze me in.
We paid for the scan. Went to have blood drawn. And then went home.
The following day my doctor called. My hCG was at 26. I was pregnant, but they were very low and it was likely that I had miscarried. I went and picked up another path slip for Friday feeling broken hearted. I spent some time playing Dr. Google and found nothing that gave me confidence.
Friday was Rei's birthday. I had my blood taken, but other than that we just enjoyed the day and evening together. I went to a dear friends hens party that night and feeling really tired and awful with lots of cramping.
Saturday marked one year since Rei and I started trying to conceive. Saturday I started bleeding. Rei was away at a bucks party, and I decided there was no point in calling him home. Instead I curled up in a ball on the lounge when Ellie went down for a nap and stared blankly at the wall wondering why this was happening.
A miscarriage was confirmed on Monday, albeit an early miscarriage, but still a lost pregnancy.
I'd like to say that I've since had some wonderful epiphany about it all, but the truth is I'm just cruising through the days at the moment, trying to hold it together. I'm very, very tired, mentally and physically.
I'm back at square one now. We're seeing my doctor on Friday to arrange another D&C. We do have hope that the D&C will finally sort things out and we will get another miracle in the next few months. There's really not much else that we can do.