Wednesday, October 24, 2007

What They Don't Tell You About IVF

Before beginning this last ditch IVF cycle I read everything I could about it. I was prepared for the bloodletting, ultrasounds, injections, pills, constant monitoring, instructions and everything. I was prepared for the anesthesia and giant needle of retrieval. I was prepared to expect anything at the fertilization report. And after transfer, even with my sucky fertilization results, I found that I could look back on it all and feel like it was a piece of cake. Something I could even do again and again, if it weren't for the whole rotten egg and high price tag. Looking back, it felt easy.

What they don't tell you about, what they don't prepare you for, is what happens after the negative beta. This is the part where all my cavalierness is coming back to haunt me.

This is where the suffering and pain is.
This is where the darkness is.
This is where the emptiness is.
This is where I cry all day long.
This is where I can't focus on anything.
This is where I have no interest in anything.
This is where I stay in my jammies until the afternoon.
This is where I shower right before Brian comes home so he doesn't know what I've been up to all day.
This is where I don't want to leave the house.
This is where I'm afraid I have lost hope.
This is where I am for the first time truly mourning my miscarriage, and realize what I have lost.
This is where I just want my life back.
This is where our "next step" looks out of reach and unrealistic as well.
This is where the end of the road is.

And I don't want to be here. But I'm here and I just can't stand it. And I don't know when I'll get out. If there is an out. And this is the part nobody tells you about.


  1. I don't know what to say my friend other than I'm so sorry you're going through this, that you're in this horrible horrible place. Hang in there, lean on us, we'll be here.

  2. This is where I try to leave some sort of comment that will heal your pain.

    This is where I realize that there isn't much that words can do for you.

    This is where I tell you that if there is anything that I could do for you, I would.

    This is where I tell you that I am thinking of you.

    This is where I wish that I could somehow do something, anything, for a really good person who has had something really awful happen to her.

  3. Well, we can't tell you everything in advance...cause the bad stuff is too hard to even want to consider. But having walked in your shoes (alone, without the blogosphere when darkness surrounded me entirely), I can tell you that it does get better -- not right away, but it does get better.

  4. I am so sorry. I wish I could make you feel better. I don't really have any advice on how to get through it. I am thinking of you and praying for you though.

  5. I hope you have some sunshine in your days ahead. Sending hugz and prayers!

  6. I hope you have some sunshine in your days ahead. Sending hugz and prayers!

  7. Oh, Chris. I am so sorry you have fallen into this pit of despair. You will climb out soon. Just give yourself time. And cry. And scream. And ask people for help. And you will have good days and bad days, and don't give yourself a hard time if you feel great one day and horrible the next. And lean on your loved ones. And keep Molly Pie close to you. People do their best to say the right words, and sometimes they just don't help. A doggie however, can only give you pure, unadulterated love. Drink it in. She will help. We are here for you too.

  8. Oh, Chris...I wish there were words to help you heal...your words spoke so deeply to my heart. The heartbreaking honesty in them gave words to feelings that I myself don't know how to express...and I am so sorry you have to feel this deep pain.

    This is where I echo the words Katie said for you...hugs to you, sweetie. I'm always here.

  9. Anonymous9:57 PM

    This is a very good post. They don't tell us about the negative beta. There's so much hype. It's a challenging road. I'm on it. I know how you feel. The hardest part is not knowing. Not having the answers. Amy

  10. Anonymous9:01 PM

    Reading these words made my heart ache for you. We, (your brother and me), feel so unexplainably crushed for you. We know you feel like you are at the end of the road, a very long long road. But as cliche as it sounds, when one door closes another one opens when we least expect it. You're gonna get thru this hard time and the path will change for you. We are here for you and want you to lean on us for support. But from the comments in this blog, you have some wonderful, supportive and loving friends--you are blessed and good things will come. Have Love, Hope and most of all Faith.
    Love, Kari & Eric

  11. I'm so sorry. I am reading this post just now. I'm sorry.