Eight Week Milestone

Dear Baby,
Today we saw your heart beating, and saw the blood pumping through your small little body.  You already have eyelids, all your organs, and have joints in your wrists and knees. You are just the size of a kidney bean, but I swear you're the most loved little legume that ever existed.

Today was a big day for us. In the past 2 years, our hearts have always broken before eight weeks. But not with you. Even the doctors agree that you look beautiful. We haven't been calling you "baby", but just a little totsicle. Today we said "baby" for the first time, and although the look in our eyes is one of pure panic and worry, it is also beginning to look like one of excitement and hope.

Keep on growing, little kidney bean. Happy 8 week birthday!
Love,
The people who will one day ground you

Dear Katy,
Today I texted my family about the good news of another successful appointment and one sister asked how you were feeling. I said you felt nauseous in the afternoons, but overall just tired with the perfect amount of pregnancy crumminess. One sister said "How do you ever thank someone for going through this for you? What an angel. I am so thankful for her." Another sister said "Mostly, what a special relationship. One only a few people will ever understand."

This is exactly how I feel.  I've been taught there are four words in Greek that mean "love." However, it's obvious Socrates didn't know much about surrogacy or he would have made up a new word that describes our feelings for you. Thank you for enduring an ultrasound every week and not making us feel crazy when we ask to hear the heartbeat again and again.
Love,
The people who will put you through agonizing pain in 8 months

Dear Will,
Thank you for reminding me things could still go wrong, while also entertaining me about which baby names sound the best in a slogan. (Obviously for when our child runs for Student Council.) You will forever be my balance. Thank you for always reminding me that this will definitely be worth it, and that this isn't my fault. There is no one else on earth I would want to go through this with than you.
Love,
The girl who keeps crying and getting snot and mascara on your shoulder

Dear God,
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Love,
All the obnoxious prayer warriors who haven't ceased to keep praying for us

little patient soul

We heard a heartbeat, people!!

Katy flew in for the day to be seen by our Houston clinic, and our wonderful doctor came in on her day off to do the ultrasound. We were very anxious leading up to this, and the two week wait felt like two years. Needless to say,  I think people in Singapore could have heard my heart beating out of my chest as we walked into the room.

First our doc says "OK, I only see one sac." An immediate disappointment swallows us. Not twins. (We were really hoping for the "two for the price of one" deal.)

And then she says "Well, look at that flicker! There's the heart." We listened closely, and the sweetest sound you'll ever hear filled the room. Any disappointment of it not being twins left us as quickly as it came. The pain of the past 1.5 years didn't go away, but rather suddenly felt like it had a purpose.

My sister lives in L.A., and has recruited lots of prayers from her friends. (We like to take our prayer requests national.) She forwarded me a text from one of her friends that said "I don't want to speak too soon, but man, that little one is so meant to be. Look what had to happen for him/her to come to be?? Little soul has been waiting patiently!"

Little soul, please hang on. We'd really love to meet you. (And not just because you'd be the first one in our family to be patient.)

Katy will have ultrasounds weekly her first trimester, so it's another day to celebrate and another week to wait.  My colleague, Karen, said "We get to celebrate again!!" (I think she's beginning to figure out that this pregnancy will have more celebrated milestones than any pregnancy in history.)

Little patient soul, we're celebrating you.

To Another Day

We have great news! We got another girl pregnant! (note: I'm not sure if these jokes will ever get old.) 

We have done two blood tests and both had positive results, indicating Katy's HCG numbers are increasing and there is a positive pregnancy.

The "two week wait" (which is really only 10 days) felt eerily similar to when I was going through it. I thought maybe I wouldn't think about it as much this time, since it wasn't happening to my body. I was wrong. So after too many home pregnancy tests (some of which were negative, so a big shout out to my friends who are still my friends after I dramatically told them it didn't work and was a disaster for 3 days), we received the good news!

I wish I could say that we were immediately elated and hopeful and already planning our nursery color scheme. However, our "we've already been here multiple times before" thoughts begin to emerge, and it's been hard to let the joy consume us before our doubts creep in. That may seem hard to explain to some, and I'm not meaning to be ungrateful. We are VERY grateful. But as excited as I want to feel, I feel five times as scared and anxious. We are all counting down until our first ultrasound on Dec 17th.

We went out to dinner to celebrate her first positive blood test, and Will's toast was "To Another Day." Another Day we are thankful that we're this far.  Another Day of hoping and dreaming. And Another Day to pray that we have lots more days like this one.

a brutiful day.

Will woke up this morning, took the dogs outside, and came back upstairs with an excited "It's a beautiful day to knock someone up!" And boy, oh boy, was today beautiful.

My favorite writer, Glennon Melton, writes that the most beautiful things are the ones that are also so brutally hard. She calls these things "brutiful." So maybe that's a better description of today. It wouldn't have been so beautiful, if at the same time, it wasn't brutally difficult.

Blake and Katy got in last night from Dallas, and we got her ready to invite our little totsicles into her body with some Cyclone Anaya's, (since it's only inevitable that our kids will do anything for Tex-Mex). As we sat there laughing about the funny things her kids say, I was struck with how much I genuinely liked them. Yet, I wouldn't know them at all without this insane journey.  A "brutiful" realization, if you will.

Today at Houston IVF, the nurse came to tell Will and I that the embryos thawed successfully. (It's always a risk that they won't make it through the thawing process.) As Will put his arm around me, I knew he was the only person in the world thinking the same thought I was. "This is so hard. This is so great." Looking at him in that waiting room as we prayed together was a moment I'll never forget. It was so freaking brutiful.

As we walked into the transfer room with Katy already prepped and ready to go, I just cried and cried. Cried tears of sadness and grief that I could not be the one to do this. Cried tears of hope that maybe this could be our chance. Cried tears of gratitude that Katy and Blake are in our lives. All just big ol' brutiful tears.

And as we walked out and hugged them goodbye, it was the first time I realized that my little embryos don't go home with me. They stay with Katy, and I have to trust that she'll love them and keep them safe. It's a brutiful thing to have to give up that control, yet also have a sense of peace knowing that I trust her so completely. 

Will was right. Today was a brutally beautiful, brutiful day.

xo,
Kendall and Will

ps. We find out in 10 days if it's worked! So prayers for the next 10 days... and hopefully the next 9 months. (Or why you're at it, the next 18 years.)

 

In attempt to get me to stop crying, we took selfies in the back room. We like to call this one, "waiting to impregnate another person" face.

 

Our adorable baby-carrier and her sweet husband!

 

Burning Bright

It's been a long time since I've written, somewhat purposefully. It's been a whirlwind, and I knew I'd confuse everyone if I updated on every step. We've just tried to keep moving forward with the mantra "If you keep pedaling, you won't fall off."

 

In a quick summary and bullet-point fashion, here's a chronological update:

• Decided to definitely move forward with a carrier. Signed a contract with the GC agency.
• Got matched to a carrier who lives in Houston. We loved her. Got super excited and couldn't wait to move forward.
• After some testing, our doctor did not approve her because of some physical risks. We got sad and defeated and thought "maybe we shouldn't do this."
• We kept pedaling.
• We had two advocates reach out on our behalf to the CEO of our GC agency to ask them to "look out for us."(One is a new friend who used the same GC agency, and one is our fertility doctor. Both contacted the agency without us knowing. We didn't even bribe anyone!)
• CEO, not our normal caseworker, called us and said she had someone she'd like us to meet that she'd been "keeping in her back pocket." The potential carrier works in the fertility industry, and she had recently decided she could do more. She mentioned to the CEO that she may want to be a carrier. The CEO promised she'd find someone for her that would be a good match.
• Enter an anxious and excited Monroe couple.
• In a whirlwind Labor Day weekend, Will and I drove to Dallas. (Don't worry- she's not a Cowboy's fan. We obviously asked.)
• We met her, her husband, and her children.
• We fell in love.

I don't want to reveal too much about her to protect her privacy, but she's wonderful. Her name is Katy and she lives in a suburb outside of Dallas. She's in her late twenties, is married, and has children of her own. She works in the "fertility field" and for years has been helping women with their fertility struggle. Because of this, she knows well what lengths some women go through to become mothers.

In our first meeting, we asked her and her husband why they wanted to do this for another couple. (Her husband is not involved in anything directly, but obviously this is a big step for their family.) She said "I have been involved in the third party fertility industry for years, and have seen first hand the heartache that many parents have gone through to build their families. I have had all uncomplicated pregnancies and I see this as a way that I can help a family. My husband and I are done building our family but we have both discussed and feel that God has called us to continue to make a difference in the lives of a couple to help them grow theirs." (Don't you love her, too??)  She is so genuine, kind, and generous. I really can't believe she's "ours!"

We have already gone through all her pre-testing, finished a long process of contracts with attorneys, and have successfully made it over some speed bumps. We hope to do the embryo transfer sometime before the holidays!

Before our last IVF cycle, we booked a trip to Europe knowing that it was going to either be a "babymoon" (since I would have been in my second trimester by then), or it would be a chance to clear our heads after a loss. However, it turned out to be neither of those things. We definitely have grieved (and will continue to grieve) the baby's who heart we heard beat strong, but never got to hold. And we definitely wished we could have discussed disposable diapers vs. cloth diapers or a "labor plan." But instead, we met Katy right before we left, and so Europe wasn't a trip of nursery planning nor was it a grieving getaway. It was a trip of hope and gratitude, knowing that one part of our journey was over, but a new one was just beginning.

 

When our doctor called the gestational carrier agency on our behalf, we've been told she told the CEO, "I have a couple that I started seeing two years ago, and their light shined so bright. Today they've just left my office, and I'm worried their light is barely a flicker." 

 

I sure hope Katy makes us parents. But even if she doesn't, I am forever grateful that she has made our light continue to burn, and maybe even brighter than ever.

 

With Love,

Kendall and Will

"Opposite of Loneliness"

Over the past few days I've received a couple emails from friends saying "Give us an update!" (To those friends- I love you. Thank you for caring.) The truth is that I've become a bit more "reserved" in the past couple weeks. As we've told people we're continuing down the route of a gestational carrier, I found myself becoming more and more nervous. I was constantly holding my breath to see how someone would respond or what they would say. So instead of putting myself through the anxiety, I decided I would just stop talking about it entirely. 

Well, I just left church and the sermon was one of those "this-is-for-you-Kendall-so-you-better-listen" type sermons. The gist of the sermon was this: If we shut ourselves out to the world, we are missing the most wonderful thing that we can experience as human beings. Going through life with "family",  (not necessarily the family we're born with, but the community/friends/family we choose to surround ourself with), is when we are living out the essence of our existence.  We must allow ourselves to be open, and thus allow ourselves to nurture and be nurtured by others.

One of the sermon illustrations was Marina Keegan, the Yale grad who gave her commencement speech and then was killed 5 days later in a car accident. She spoke about her experience at Yale, and named the commencement address "The Opposite of Loneliness." The commencement essay was about how wonderful it was to be part of something bigger than she was. Throughout the sermon, and after reading her whole essay, I realized that if I don't allow myself to be open, even though with "open" comes "vulnerable", then I'm the one missing out.

So here we go, guys. We're headed on a new journey. I wish I could tell you what happens at the end, but I'm not quite sure myself.  But in a new effort to be open, I'll start by tackling some of the hardest questions I've been asked.

Why are you using a gestational carrier?

This is tough, because I don't have a long diagnosis to spit out. As far as the doctors know, my immune system has never/will never be hospitable for an embryo. It becomes inflamed and can't tell what are foreign cells (like virus or bacteria cells), and what isn't. Therefore, my body attacks anything it doesn't recognize (like an embryo.) Because in most cases a diagnosis like this doesn't change with time, we aren't waiting or continuing with further treatment.

You're going to use a surrogate or a gestational carrier? What's the difference?

This is a hard question to answer because traditional surrogacy doesn't really exist as frequently as it once did. But generally speaking, a surrogate is when the carrier is using her own egg. So a contract would be for a woman to carry her biological child and would undergo artificial insemination with sperm from the potential father. The surrogate is genetically linked to the child she's carrying. 

However, a gestational carrier is when the embryo is not genetically related to the carrier. She is transferred the embryo from intended parents, and then carries it with no genetic connection. She is literally "just the oven."  (Some women do use an egg donor AND a gestational carrier. But that's another story for another time.)

However, since traditional surrogacy doesn't happen much anymore in the U.S., the word "surrogacy" is often used in place of "gestational carrier." So I may say "my surrogate" at times, even though we are using a gestational carrier.

So how does this work? 

Well, we aren't 100% sure. We will be figuring a lot of it out as we go. We are using an agency to help us find a carrier and work with us throughout the process. Gestational carriers do get paid a large sum for their service, but many of them also have a heart to give back to others. (One potential gestational carrier said "The gift of motherhood was the greatest gift I've ever received. It would be an honor to give that gift to someone else." Enter waterworks.)  

All of the potential carriers have had a child of their own, and go through rigorous physical/physiological evaluations. It's a little like "blind dating". We have met a few girls, and we hope we are getting a few steps closer. (We have to like them, and they have to like us.)  If a carrier doesn't live in our area, she will do the embryo transfer in Houston, and then see her own OB/GYN in her home city. We will travel for doctors' appointments and we will be in the room during labor/delivery.

Why don't you just adopt?

Adoption is a wonderfully magnificent way to become a parent. And maybe someday in our future, Will and I will adopt. For now, we have frozen embryos that we want to persue. The wait to adopt a newborn is several years, and almost the same amount of money as the route we're currently perusing.  It is not the "easy quick fix" that you may be expecting. Unfortunately, there is no "just" in "just adopt." 

Why doesn't one of your sisters carry it for you?

My sisters are by far the biggest blessing I could imagine in this world. I would trust any of my sisters far beyond I could trust myself to carry a child. However, this isn't a "Will you run to the grocery store for me?" type of favor. I have three sisters who will all start or continue a family in the next few years. To ask or expect any of them to carry this for me would be asking them to stop perusing their dream family. (Unless I want to ask my sister in college to carry. And I don't think her sorority or Young Life would allow her to walk around knocked-up.) While I know any of my sisters would give her right arm for me, I want her to use that right arm for the life she wants, not the life I'm after.

Does Will have sex with the woman you choose? 

No. Surely you're joking, but since I've been asked the question twice in 2 weeks, I guess it should be addressed. Like I explained previously, the embryo is genetically ours. There is no sex to be had, although I appreciate your creativity. Our embryos have been frozen from our previous IVF cycles. Our carrier will be transferred an embryo in a hospital room, not a hotel room. 

Are you going to tell?

I'm not really sure what this question means, but I've been asked it often. Am I going to tell my child? Absolutely. His/her journey into this world is one I'm already proud of. He/She is very wanted, so there's no reason I would hide this. Am I going to tell a person in the elevator that my baby was born via a gestational carrier? Probably not. Am I going to tell Facebook/whole world? Well, to be honest - I'm just not sure yet. (Baby steps, for now.)

This is so scientific. I don't think God is "in" this. 

I've luckily only received this feedback a few times, and I'm still not quite sure how to say "Hmmm... well we must worship different Gods, then." My God is ever so present in this situation. He has created people who have blessed us in this journey far more than I could have imagined.  It is because of Him, not "in spite" of Him, that we are here. He has created our doctor with genius-like brains and incredible bedside manner.  He has created our embryologists, who have helped science get this far. He has blessed us with Sarah Barnett, a dear friend (who is becoming our personal genetic counselor) who has helped us walk through many genetic questions. He has walked with us through every heartbreak and turmoil thus far. Our God is very much in this.

I know all of you may have a lot more questions, and we know there are more questions than answers, for now. Luckily, we seem to learn more each day. 

Marina Keegan, the Yale graduate, wrote in her essay:  "It’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team."

Thank you, to all of you, for being in this with us. You are the best team.

Heading Down a Road Less Traveled

It's been a rough couple weeks, folks. But we're still standing! 

 

Week before last was mostly just navigating through the physical pain. Finally we had the surgery to remove the embryo, and on day 4 post-op, I was finally off all pain medications and could generally function again. 

 

We've spent a lot of time reading about next steps and deciding if going the route of a gestational carrier was for us. We've talked with our doctor, spoken with a caseworker from a surrogate/gestational carrier agency, and Googled so much about surrogacy that I'm sure my internet pop-ups will now never be anything but diapers and stroller ads.

 

One article we read was from Jimmy Fallon. He and his wife recently had a child born via a carrier. He said; "We tried lots of things before, we told people and then it didn't happen, and it's just really depressing. It's really hard on everybody."

 

We know this is true. We love all of you for crying and hurting with us, but we also recognize that this has been hard on a lot of people. Hard on our families. Hard on relationships with friends who may not completely understand why we have not quite been ourselves. Hard on our careers. Hard on my body. It's been hard. 

 

So because of how difficult this has been, and because of the direction and advice we've received from our doctors, we have decided to move forward with a gestational carrier and stop trying with my body. We know we have completely exhausted our current avenue, and while it has really sucked, we know we've done all we could.  We have tried naturally. We have tried being monitored constantly. We have tried drugs. We have tried IVF with genetically perfect embryos.  We have been tested for everything under the sun. And so six miscarriages later, we now can positively confirm that my body/ immune system just isn't quite keen on me carrying a baby. And while I am so sad, for lots of reasons, that I won't be the one to bring our baby into the world, I am SO thankful that we have another avenue. We have hope and excitement as we prepare to go down the road a little less traveled. 

 

Jimmy Fallon also said, "We tried for a long time. I know people have tried much longer, but if there's anyone out there who is trying and they're just losing hope... just hang in there. Try every avenue; try anything you can do, 'cause you'll get there. You'll end up with a family, and it's so worth it. It is the most 'worth it' thing. I'm just so happy right now. I'm freaking out."

 

So for now we're taking good ol' Jimmy's advice and we're just "hanging in there." We're concentrating on the hope that someday we will have a baby with Will's bright blue eyes and my bullheadedness. We are thankful that we can continue with totsicles we already have and with a doctor we've grown to love and trust. We are hopeful that our potential gestational carrier will become part of our family, and that in the end, we'll get the baby God meant for us to have. 

 

I was telling my family last week that I don't know for certain how all this works, but I hope that the soul of our past babies get to go back into the heavens and wait their turn to be picked again. I hope that they will make their way down to Earth someday in a body that is strong for all 40 weeks and will be greeted with the same love and excitement that we had. My sister, Katie, said "Yes, those souls are back out there. But the soul meant for you and Will is still waiting."  

 

So with that, we wait with hope.

Love to all,
Kendall and Will

Today is a hard day.

Today marks eight weeks of pregnancy. Today also marks the day that we were told the heartbeat has stopped. I'll have surgery later this week to collect embryonic tissue for testing, in hopes that it may bring any answers.

It's almost funny, actually. Last night at bible study our book was talking about Jesus' miracles in the book of John. It raised the question "why are the signs or miracles in the book of John numbered?" Jesus' last miracle in that gospel is His resurrection. It's His 8th sign. After 7 miracles comes His last big miracle that brings peace and new creation. I actually thought to myself last night, "OMG! I'm on miracle of week 8 and am beginning to finally feel peace. Good one, Apostle John!" (Obviously that's not the point of the book or the miracles, but I'm only a selfish human and liked imagining it was Jesus doing a 'Wassup Kendall, this message is for you' type thing.)

If I'm honest, Will and I are not good.  Today is a hard day. Will stood beside me with our video camera ready to film the heartbeat as we were told the news. We are surprised. We feel angry. We feel confused. We wonder if our journey to parenthood ends here, or if we have it in us to continue to surrogacy. We wonder what any of this was supposed to teach us. We wonder how many times we can repeat "This can only make us stronger!"

Mostly, we're waiting for the next miracle, and the peace and new creation that comes with it.

Love to all,
Kendall and Will

A Day for the Books.

If I could describe the past 24 hours, it would definitely be a mix of tears and curse words and tears and hugs and tears. I didn't know it was possible to cry this much.

 

On Tuesday I traveled to Dallas for work. It was a quick day trip, and I thought it would be perfect to distract myself the day before our big appointment. Without going into too many details (mostly because I probably still have PTSD from the experience), I miscarried in Dallas. I was scared and sad and just wanted to be home. I landed at the airport with Will waiting for me, and my wonderful friends Kate and Russell were there to drive my car home. I can't tell you what that night was like. We cried A LOT. The only silver lining was that while I was at the airport in a lot of pain, I bought little Tylenol packets in an airport kiosk. Turns out I was too panicked to read them, and they were Tylenol PM. So after a near overdose of that, the only blessing was that I could sleep.

 

The next morning we went to the appointment. We didn't do my morning shots, because what was the point? We wanted to make sure there weren't any complications from the miscarriage and move on. I was holding Will's hand looking away from the ultrasound screen, and the nurse says "well, there's the heartbeat. Do you want to hear it?" Yep. There was a freaking heartbeat, people.

 

I couldn't hear it because I was sobbing too much, so she calmly let us get our act together, and then showed us again. I am still in a fog from the entire appointment. The only two things I remember are a strong little heartbeat, and through my sobs my husband saying "wait- are you KIDDING me??" (A quote that has been repeated many times since, and one that I will never let him live down.)

 

She then explained that I have a hematoma (aka: a big pocket of blood) next to the placenta that is bleeding. (Hence my experience in Dallas.) This can be dangerous, so we're working on getting that under control. I asked how worried we should be, and she said "We're not going to overreact, but we don't want to under-react either." So I'm going to adjust some of my blood thinner shots and estrogen, and hope it begins to shrink. The worry is it continues to grow and causes bleeding issues, and/or separates the placenta from the uterus. We go back on Tuesday to see if it's any smaller and to discuss next steps.

 

We've googled a lot, and there are lots of different answers. I read this can happen to 20% of pregnancies on one site, and on one site I read that it happens in 1%. The nurse said bleeding happens often, but hematomas are more rare. She also said more than 50% of women go on to have normal pregnancies. (Considering we were told this pregnancy had a 5% chance of working, we'll take 50% odds any day.)  We are not sure if this has been the problem with all my previous miscarriages, or if this is a new issue. (I realize that none of this information really matters, I just wouldn't have done my job freaking out if I didn't fully google stalk the issue.)

 

The rollercoaster of events ended with a moment we'll probably never forget. We know we're not out of the woods and there is still lots of uncertainty ahead. But there is one thing I know for sure; I have never heard a sound more beautiful than this totsicle's beating heart.

Today, we will celebrate.

Not long ago during a softball game, I hit a double. I am pretty sure the entire city of Houston was chanting my name as I rounded 1st base and landed safely on 2nd. (At least my team was, as this was as shocking as Janet Jackson's Nipplegate circa Super Bowl 2004.)

The past 48 hours, every time Will and I discussed how my HCG numbers HAVE to double, I kept thinking of my basically-a-home-run-double and wanting my little embryo to hit this one out of the park. If my numbers didn't double, we'd know it was over.

My nurse just called and my numbers went from 51 to 174. They more then TRIPLED.  (In softball talk, this Totsicle ran right through 2nd and is rounding 3rd.) Clearly this one takes after his/her over-achieving father.

I know last time my numbers were great and still it didn't work out. However, I won't let last time jade me. Today, I will celebrate and be thankful.

We are off to Pace Family Vacation, the greatest time of the year. We will celebrate this week and anxiously await for the ultrasound in 2 weeks where we hope to hear a little heartbeat. Thank you to so many of you who have prayed and hoped and cried with us these past 48 hours. We made it another day!

Wahoo?

We're pregnant! WAHOO!!*

 

We went in this morning for the blood test to confirm the pregnancy. I was completely unprepared for bad news because we had a positive home pregnancy test, so I just went to work and waited on the call.

 

My nurse just called and said "You are pregnant! Congrats! However..." (Note: whenever someone says "however", make sure you take a deep breath before listening to rest of sentence.) She told me my "beta" number, the number that indicates positive or negative pregnancy, is low.  It is on the cut-off of indicating a positive pregnancy. But then she said "While low, we still remain hopeful as it still falls in the range of a positive test." (Translation: "Start panicking.")

 

We know that this beta number HAS to double every 48-72 hours to remain healthy, so we go back on Friday in hopes that it rises enough to still be considered a healthy pregnancy. If it is, we continue the waiting game until the ultrasound in two weeks. We do know that this indicates there is only one embryo. (Recap: last time my numbers looked great, and it wasn't until the ultrasound that we received the bad news.)  So for now, we just wait. You'd think I'd be getting better at this by now, but I think I'm getting significantly worse.

 

One of my best friends said, "It's fine! She's already a southern lady and is just taking her sweet time with those rising numbers! Don't rush the girl!" SO much love to all of those optimistic people out there. (One of our friends even calls herself a "5 percenter", as she's banking on the 5% chance this works.)

 

To our little embryo: If you hang on, I swear I'll be the type of parent that waits in line twice as long as other parents for "Frozen" paraphernalia. We love you so much already.

 

Love to all,

Kendall and Will

 

*I'm saying "WAHOO" because I want to be able to tell my future child, should this one hang on, that I was so excited when I heard the news. (And because if I say what I'm really thinking, my mom will probably wash my mouth out with soap.)

Onward.

We're ready to roll, folks. Today we got the go-ahead that Monday (6/30) will be our transfer date of two little embryos. (I don't know if I can still call them 'totscicles', as they're probably about to begin thawing...) Last time we knew the genders of the two embryos they transferred, but we've chosen not to know this time to help alleviate some anxiety. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

Many have asked why I haven't blogged in awhile. The truth is that I haven't blogged because I didn't want to have to be honest about how I'm ACTUALLY doing. But when I started this blog I promised I'd always be open and honest, mostly because I wanted to remember how I truly felt when I looked back. So I will try to keep that promise to myself, even though currently it ain't pretty. (Disclaimer: I DID promise myself that when I thought I'd only have 3 entries before sending out my cute ultrasound while thanking everyone for their prayers. But fine, a promise is a promise.)

The past couple weeks have been difficult. I was talking to a friend of mine who is currently going through IVF and she said "Do you think it's possible for anyone else to know how bad this sucks?" She captured my thoughts in that moment perfectly. This experience is so isolating that sometimes you think you may be the only person to ever have gone through it. (Disclaimer #2: I know that's completely dramatic.) I think maybe it's just like anytime you have a dark cloud hanging over you, it's hard for others to know what the rain feels like to YOU.

The weeks before the transfer are filled with hormones, shots, and medicines that make you feel like a completely different person. (And by different, I mean crazy.)  I act and say and do things that are so out of character for me that it causes me to be even MORE upset with this process and myself. (I can usually "fake it 'til I make it" in public settings until I'm with someone that I don't have to "fake it" around. Shout out to those "someones", who somehow are all still speaking to me.) Perhaps the biggest truth is that for the first time since this process began, I decided I didn't want it anymore. I decided I was ok to move to Oregon and open up a winery. I decided that I was really good at some things, and having babies just wasn't one of them. I decided that Will and my dogs and my family and my friends were enough. (Disclaimer #3: I still may think that. Not sure I'm completely out of that "stage".)

Last week I was emailing someone who went through fertility issues a year ago and since then has become a dear friend and cheerleader. I was blunt and honest with her and admitted that I wanted to give up.  She basically said, "If you want to dream of opening up a winery, then do that! Daydream and research all you want! In fact, you SHOULD do that! What a great distraction! But you can't stop perusing another dream you're already in the middle of chasing."

Her words got me thinking of the summer that we had to learn the "butterfly" stroke on swim team. After I was forced to attempt the stroke at practice one day, I went home and immediately told my parents that I wanted to quit because doing the butterfly stroke made me feel like I was going to drown.  My parents said "OK, you can quit, but not until next summer. You decided you were going to do it this year, so you need to finish what you started." Throughout the summer's swim meets, I don't think I ever received anything other than the purple "disqualified" ribbon. It was a horrible summer. But ya know what? I didn't drown.

So onward we go. It doesn't matter that we're not skipping to the doctors' offices with lots of hope like we were last time. It doesn't matter that I cry constantly, or that I'm so anxious that sometimes I think my heart may beat out of my chest. It doesn't matter that we met with the surrogacy agency because we're fairly certain none of this will work. It doesn't matter that I curse the hormones every time Will injects them into me. It doesn't matter that sometimes I think "I'd be an excellent wine maker." Instead what matters is that we're moving forward, one day at a time, pursuing a dream that I once thought was attainable. (And in some moments, maybe I still do.)

Love,

Kendall and will

Ps. Final disclaimer: Will read this and would like to be clear that he's not a "Negative Nancy" and he is still full of hope and excitement. So go ahead and change all previous "we" statements to "me only" statements.  (If it's true what they say that "even if someone had to carry you across the finish line, you still crossed it", then thanks for carrying me, Willionaire.)

"We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated."

Since the death of Maya Angelou, her quotes have covered news headlines, twitter accounts, and Facebook news feeds, and I have LOVED it.  I loved the optimism that her legacy has left behind. I loved that every quote struck different people in entirely different ways. I loved that people googled her and ordered her books that they've always been meaning to read. (I know I did!) I loved that I stood a little taller after reading about such an amazing woman and all she accomplished. And I especially loved how one thing she said has echoed through my head this past week as if she planned the timing herself: "We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated."

Will and I had a week of some defeated thoughts. Last week, (right after my beautiful sisters' wedding weekend, which was pure perfection by the way...), we were set to finish some tests to get the 'thumbs up' to start preparing my body for the next round of meds and another embryo transfer. We were expecting smooth sailing, as this is the "easy" part. However, unfortunately one of the tests resulted in the need for surgery on part of my uterus. So not exactly the 'thumbs-up' we were expecting. (Actually felt more like the middle finger than the thumb.) We still aren't sure exactly what happened. Our basic understanding is that my uterus got infected from my last miscarriage and they had to remove that part to avoid further damage. (Frankly, I still don't really get it.) We had 3 days notice for the surgery which gave us the perfect amount of time to repeat the phrase "CAN'T WE JUST CATCH ONE FREAKING BREAK??" about 9,345 times. (Maybe even 9,346.)

Surgery was in the main hospital on Monday morning, and other than the anesthesiologist trying to put the tube down my throat while I was still awake, everything went really well. I've bounced back fairly quickly, actually.

We won't be given the 100% green light for a definitive transfer date until a couple of weeks post-surgery, but we're moving forward with injections hoping that I continue doing well with this part of the healing. We start the first shot tonight and our hope is that all goes smoothly and we can do an embryo transfer during the last week in June.

This week wasn't what we were expecting, and it felt like just another defeat. But it turned out to be another defeat we could handle.  So thank you, Dr. Angelou, for reminding me that we sure aren't waving the white flag yet.

Bring it on, June. We're ready for you.

Love,
Kendall and Will

Ps. For those that are confused, yes- we ARE doing another embryo transfer. We're going to try one more time before going the surrogacy route. Because I have embryos already frozen, we don't have to do the harvest again. And if you recall from earlier blogs, hell would have to freeze over for me to do that again, so it works out nicely.

Dear Future Self

Dear Future Self,

One day you are going to be reading your baby's book, and come across this blog. (Maybe it'll be printed out in a baby book, or maybe by then, your baby will be given an iPad with his birth certificate and this is still electronic. Either way, continue reading.) If you're anything like you are now, you will forget a lot of the lessons you've learned promptly after learning them. So I want to remind you of a couple things, just to be sure you never forget.

1. Remember the power of friendship. When you know someone is going through a hard time, remember to mail that card or send that text or bring over the dinner or show up to take them out for drinks. That person will never forget what you did or said or how that support made them feel. Also remember that a glass of wine really helps the soul.

2.  Remember that someday when you tell people you're expecting baby number three, it's possible that the news may make their heart skip a beat. However, just because they're fighting for a baby of their own, doesn't mean they aren't overjoyed for you. Remember that you were always elated for every friend or family member or colleague that told you they were pregnant during your journey. While it may remind that person of his/her own sadness, they are happy for you, just like you were happy for all your loved ones who grew their family before you could. The mind is weird like that; it can long for what someone has, but also be SO FREAKING PUMPED that their loved one has it.

3. When you have changed far more diapers and made far more bottles than him one day, remember your husband is your best friend. Remember the days he talked you through tears after something happened to trigger emotions of sadness or hopelessness of the future. Remember the days when he held your hand even tighter than he did during the FSU National Championship game. Remember the days your husband entertained your ideas of possibly not having kids, but then reminded you that he thinks this is a battle worth continuing. Remember the days he lifted you off the ground (only sometimes literally) and got you through the day. Remember the days your husband never missed one of the gazillion doctors appointments and kept your medicine more in order than you ever could. Remember the times you both laughed as you reminisced over the days where you used to care about the gender of the baby, and how you both could care less now.  Remember the days your husband went gluten-free with you, because there was a small chance that could help lower miscarriage rates.  Remember all of these things during your most sleep-deprived nights, when he is snoring and a baby is screaming.

4. Sometimes people say things without thinking.  Cut those people some slack.

Someone recently said to you, "Oh yes- I know exactly what you're going through. We had to almost see a fertility specialist after a few months of trying without getting pregnant. It was awful." That comment made you feel so isolated and angry. However, you had to be reminded that the person was trying to say, "I remember how heartbroken I was after unsuccessfully getting pregnant a couple of times, so I'm trying to relate to you because I love you."

Or when people have said, "You can always adopt!" and you've wanted to yell, "You have no idea about the process of adoption. You have no idea about those hurdles or the wait list. You have no idea about any of this!" Instead, you've had to learn that those people meant, "I have hope in your future."

So, future self, remember to cut people some slack when they say the wrong things. Chances are their hearts are in the right place. (And let's admit it, you have needed some slack given to you on some not-so-smart things you've said.)


5. Remember it's ok to be heartbroken. It's a lesson you're having some trouble learning. You've mastered how to be angry and confused. You've learned how to move forward and you've learned how to focus on hopeful things. You're beginning to understand that it's ok to admit that you're just plain sad, but it's still a tough reality for you to face. Like your favorite blogger 'Momastry' wrote, "Sometimes it's hard to be blue because you know you're supposed to be grateful for all you have. But please don't tell yourself you can't be sad because someone somewhere is sadder unless you're also going to refuse to be happy because somebody somewhere is happier."  So, future self, remember that the beauty of being brokenhearted is that your heart will be put back together again. No one stays broken forever. And if you've learned anything from all your trips antique shopping with your mother, it's that the cracks and warps and stains are what make it beautiful.

Most of all, future self, remember that life got really hard; but remember that you got through it.

Love,
You

Fertility Treatments: The Next Hunger Games

We went back to see the doctor today after a long phone conference with her on Friday. Today it was confirmed that there is no heartbeat, and the embryo has stopped growing. This will result in another miscarriage.

I don't really have much to say. We thought with guaranteed good embryos, with constant monitoring of my blood and hormone levels, and with drugs to combat any autoimmune disorder, that we had dotted our i's and crossed our t's. We feel disappointed and sad and confused and sad and angry and sad and frustrated and sad.

Our doctor spoke with us for a long time this morning, explaining different options. Although there is nothing we can do differently next time, she encouraged us to try again using our remaining good embryos. This way we'll know for sure that it wasn't just some random fluke, but that it's definitely an issue with me carrying. Moving straight to a gestational carrier is a big jump, (physically, emotionally, and financially) so we want to be certain we have exhausted all chances before going that route. Then, after a failed "next time", we will move forward with a gestational carrier. (If we go that route, we have decided not to use someone we know and love, but to go with a third party surrogacy carrier, for a variety of different reasons that I won't get into.)

During this process, we have "beat the odds" in the most negative ways possible. If there was a "very slight risk" of something happening, then it probably happened. If there was a 95% chance something should happen, then it probably didn't. Next time we do this, we've been told that there is a "slight chance" that the results will be different. (About 5% chance) But since we have been the 1 in 100 on all of the other things, we think we'll make those odds work for us this time! (I dressed up as Katniss Everdeen during opening night of The Hunger Games, and if she can beat the odds, so can we.) 

Like Effie Trinket says, "May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor."

Love to all,

Kendall and Will

One of those days.

I'm going to be honest...today is one of those days that I really wish I didn't start a blog for the world to read. Today is one of those days I wish I didn't have to tell wonderfully loving people in my life some disappointing news. Today is one of those days I'd like to crawl in my bed in the dark and just watch Usher, Blake Shelton and Adam Levine on Hulu and be left alone. Today is a day I'd like to cry a lot and be really angry that the hundreds of shots (Literally! We counted!) in my stomach and my bum haven't done anything, except for leave me looking like a domestic abuse victim. To put it simply, today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

We went to our 6 week appointment today. We had convinced ourselves we were going to hear the heartbeats of our two little babies for the first time. (Remember, they put in two embryos.) We discussed where we'd go to dinner tonight to celebrate, how to hold the camera to videotape the heartbeats on the screen, and how we'd do a gender reveal to tell our families it's twins.  (If you can't tell, things didn't go quite like that.)

On the ultrasound, they saw one gestational sack. The other one possibly never attached, I've already miscarried, or was absorbed by the other embryo. (Google 'vanishing twin'... although it won't be as creepy as you think.) However,  in the gestational sack they weren't able to detect a "fetal pole." (I'd explain what that was if I knew.) Because we are at a highly specialized place, they hope to be able to see that at 6 weeks with their advanced machines. However, if they can't, the results aren't 100% until 7 weeks. So we will go next week (when I'll be 7 weeks) to verify if there is something in the gestational sack, or if I've already miscarried.

The ultrasound tech told us to be optimistic, to take deep breaths, and to relax this next week. (I really wanted to tell her to "shove it", but I refrained.) We've been in that exact same room, with the exact same nurse, and have been told the exact same thing; "Come back in a week... we'll hopefully see something different then!" We're just a little burned on the optimism.

I know we have two options this next week. We can sulk and mourn a bit, or we can be optimistic and hope for good news in a week. If I'm honest, I plan on doing both. I plan to eat a lot of ice-cream and cookie dough in attempts to myself feel better. (My dear friend reminded me that on days like today, calories don't count.)   I plan on crying and hugging Will a lot, and having some "next step" talks. But then, after this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I plan on being optimistic. (Because if its own mom can't root for the little embryo to make it, who will?) I plan on convincing myself that I'm just being a dramatic, primadonna, and that everything will be A-OK when we go back in a week. (I also plan on laughing a lot, like remembering the time one of my sisters and I realized that it was a "primadonna", and not a "pre-madonna". In our defense, definitions mean basically the same thing...) I plan on preparing for when the nurse says "Miracles Happen! Listen to that heartbeat!"

I can't wait for the day to be one of those days... because THAT will be a happy day.

Love,
Kendall and Will

Singing and Celebrating

My sister Caroline reminded me of the classic song sung by Phoebe in "Friends" when she was waiting to see if she was pregnant after her embryo transfer. (Remember? With her brother's baby?):

"Are you in there little fetus?,
in 9 months will you come greet us?
I will buy you some ADIDAS..."
(For those of you who need a musical rendition to recall... click here.)

For the past 10 days we have been giving similar pep-talks to our little "tot-sicle." (Get it?? Frozen embryos + popsicles = totsicles! Gets me every time...) It's felt like a forever long wait, but today we went in for our first pregnancy test. (It's just a blood test, so it cannot indicate a heartbeat.) They called us a few hours later, and my hormone levels are indicative of a pregnancy. Yep, I. AM. PREGNANT.

Of course, I was in the shower when they called. I had taken the morning off because my friend told me they called around 10:30am usually. Well, the nurse told me "It won't be until late afternoon, so go home and relax!" (I was hoping it would be like when the 16-year-old hostess tells you it's going to be a 45 minute wait for a table at a restaurant, and then 5 minutes later they call you.) I finally decided at 11:30am to believe the nurse that it wouldn't be for another few hours, and so I'd take an extremely quick shower. (And of course I was in mid-conditioning when they called). But ya know what? You can look like a wet dog and have mascara all over your face, but when the nurse says on speaker phone "Your results show you're pregnant!", none of that ends up mattering.

Will was convinced I wasn't pregnant, so I thought he may pass out. I went back and forth every hour guessing the result. (Just so I could say "I knew it", whatever the results were.) So we both stood there in shock for a bit, not listening to the other instructions our nurse was giving us. Finally, it sunk it, and man-oh-man are we happy. (Understatement of the century.)

We know this is just one part of the journey. Unfortunately, we've been here before. On Friday, I go back to make sure my hormone levels are rising appropriately, and in 2 weeks we go back for our 6-week ultrasound. This is the "biggy" to see if a heartbeat can be detected. That's when we'll know that maybe this time could be different. For now though, we will be thankful!

I'm off to celebrate with my baby-daddy. (And will continue to sing to my embryo a promise that if she* hangs in there, she* can get all the Adidas she* wants.)

SO much love to all!

And an extra XO to all the girls that put together our two-week-wait package. Every day we've had an activity to unwrap, and an inspirational card. (From using a gift card to get Fat Cat Ice-cream, to Easter bunny ears to put on our dogs for a spring photo session, to a gift card to Zelko Bistro, to a manicure/pedicure kit, to a gift card to Barnes and Noble...like Will said, "it's Christmas every day!") You have made us laugh every. single. day. We will be forever grateful for your kindness, thoughtfulness, and for holding us up during these weeks. (Now we are going to re-wrap them and do it all again these next 2 weeks!) 

Love,
The 3 Monroes
(yes, I know it's too soon. But I couldn't resist.)

*I'm using "she" because I've heard whatever gender you call the totsicle, it'll become that. Obviously this isn't true, but I'd be an idiot if I didn't try. (Just kidding. I'll love it even if it's a boy. I'll just love it MORE if it's a girl. :)) 

Lucky.

Five St. Patrick's Days ago, Will and I were in a limo bouncing around Irish bars, and we decided we made a pretty good team and so I should stop letting other guys buy me green beer. I like to imagine that during that limo ride, God was laughing saying "oh just wait to see what you'll two be doing 5 years from now on St. Patrick's Day!"

Today we soaked in all the luck we could get. It was Embryo Transfer Day! After a month of shots and meds, my body was ready for the transfer.

It's crazy how each step we've gone through has been a hard, uphill battle, and then today, the day we've been working towards, was so easy! We did acupuncture in the morning before hand, (studies show it can help your chances), and then we went into the procedural room. Unlike the harvest, Will got to come with me. You get to walk in, (no wheel chairs or bed gurney this time!), and then a swarm of people come in. 

The embryologist team came in first and confirmed my name, social, birthday, etc. to make sure they were using the right embryos. (So I guess I won't be accidentally have George Clooney's baby, after all). Then the doctor and nurse came to prep me. When the doc said I was ready, they wheeled in the embryos in this huge incubator. (Like what a baby would be in... it's crazy!) The embryologist and doctor use all this lingo back and forth, and then you get to see on the screen the little catheter that is making a little hole in the uterus. (It didn't hurt at all, although maybe I can thank the Valium for that.) Will watched the embryologist stick her hands through the little hand-holes in the incubator, (like she was handling a rare disease) and then put it in the catheter. (Will admitted he had a "oh crap, please don't drop it" moment.)  Then the doctor said "making the transfer!" and then, just like that, it was over. I lied there for another 15 minutes, and then they said I was free to stand up.  We did acupuncture again right after, and then we were free to go!  I've rested the rest of today, and I can't do anything strenuous for awhile. 

For us, we know that even if I have a positive test in 2 weeks, it'll be getting to hear the heartbeat that means things could be different this time. So we have 2 weeks until we find out if it's a positive test, and then another 2 after that to see if there's a heartbeat. (This also assumes we don't go completely insane during this period of waiting. The ladies in my amazing Sunday School class gave me a card and an activity to do each day of the Two-Week Wait. How adorable is that? I think I'm so excited for tomorrow just for that! What amazing friends we have. If I stay sane, I'll give them the credit entirely.) 

In the meantime, they try to make you feel like this isn't a complete scientific-experiment, and they give you your "baby's" first picture to dwell over. 

See that little white dot? Aren't those cells beautiful? :)

I don't have any clue how lucky the next 2-4 weeks will be for us. But I know today, as people texted us prayers, emojis, and well wishes; and as I held hands on our dating-versary with that same dude from the limo,  I felt pretty freaking lucky. 

Love,

Kendall and Will

Oh Happy Day.

We have news! 

As a recap:
27 embryos were harvested, and 16 made it to blastocysts! (For all of you that got a boyfriend during biology just to cheat off, blastocysts are baby embryos.) We were excited about that number! Five days later, those blastocysts were biopsied to send to genetic testing. The genetic testing results is what we were waiting for today. (This news is what has made us nervous all along.)

During the biopsy stage, we lost 6 embryos. The biopsies are sent to an embryonic testing lab in New Jersey. (Who knew Jersey people did more than "G.T.L."? And for all of you who know what "G.T.L." stands for, we all need to stop watching Jersey Shore and commit to classier television... like the Kardashians.) 

We knew losing 6 embryos during the biopsy stage was highly unusual. We were previously told that less than 1% of embryos die during biopsy. We were confused on why we lost so many during that stage, but frankly, we were so consumed with my health that the number of embryos took a back seat. When they told us we were down to 11 embryos after the biopsies, we were too exhausted to read too much into it. 

Well today we found out that out of the 11 embryos they biopsied, all 11 are genetically normal!
(insert cheers, applause, rainbows, and french horns) 

These results are also highly unusual. (ie: My doctor has never had a patient with 100% normal embryos.) The "average" Fertile Myrtle has around 10%-20% abnormal biopsied embryos. (Which is about the percentage chance of a "normal" person having a miscarriage.) For me, she prepared us to expect around 80% to come back abnormal. 

So what does this MEAN?

1) It means we had a LOT of people praying for us. I have no doubt God probably said "ok ok ok! Healthy embryos for Kendall Pace Monroe! Enough Already!" (But in a really nice Jesus-y way.) Thank you to all of you for your prayers, strong positive mojo, and lucky thoughts.

2) It means it's highly possible it's my uterus/body is the problem, rather than the embryos. From the very beginning we expected this could be the problem. I have had some health issues in the past, and it's possible this is just a side effect of those. Dr. McKenzie noticed my white blood cell counts have been very sporadic throughout my visits with her. This makes her think that it could be auto-immune related (and my body just attacks the pregnancy every time). We always kind of wondered this, given my history of auto-immune problems, so we are not surprised by this hypothesis. In attempt to remedy this, I will be on a drug immediately after the embryo transfer that often helps those in these situations. (You can't be on the drug before/during conception, so patients unfortunately have to do IVF just so the timing is exact when starting the drug immediately after the transfer.) 

If the transfer doesn't work, and/or I miscarry again, we will conclude that I can't carry and opt to use a gestational carrier. While these are very expensive, (although we have a loved one who has volunteered to carry), we are thankful that we know that, someday, we WILL have a child.
(insert squeals, giggles, and puppies)

3) Like previously mentioned, we learned that we had a pretty high rate of loss during the biopsy stage. It's possible that these type of embryos were the ones I was carrying during previous pregnancies. Because the embryos "died" during biopsy, we'll never know what the cause was. In past pregnancies, we were never able to hear a heartbeat. This leads us to think that I have always miscarried very early, similar to these embryos. They started off great, and then couldn't continue successfully. (Think Lindsay Lohan of embryos.) It's possible that this is why the genetic testing results were excellent, because the flawed embryos had "died" during the biopsy stage.  (Hopefully this means since we've eliminated those embryos and will only transfer healthy embryos, we will have much a higher chance for a healthy pregnancy.) 

Next Steps? 
First, like Kelly said, "Celebrate with wine tonight, cause it looks like vino won't be in your future!" (From her mouth to God's ears!)

So after that, we will continue on the plan of a transfer sometime at the end of March. (We should be on track to have a transfer then, if everything continues to go well during the next round of shots and meds throughout the next 1.5 months.)

IVF is a very schizophrenic process. We're up! We're down! We're up again! (Flashback to FSU National Championship.) But while there may be more downs in the future, for now, it sure is fun in the clouds!

Love to all,
Kendall and Will

Been There, Climbed That.

So turns out, we DID have to climb Mt. Everest. (Or at least Mount Kilimanjaro.) But we're back to base camp now, and we've survived! 

I don't know exactly where to begin, but after they removed the fluids on Thursday, I was told I would feel immediate relief and then I'd go home and sleep for 12 hours due to the meds. Well, they lied. I felt great for a few hours, and then I started feeling even worse than I did pre-surgery. That morning before surgery they said my blood counts were off, so they said post-surgery I'd need to start blood thinner shots for at least 10 days. (Hey grandpa! We have something in common!) Well after we did the shot, (what's with these people and the shots in the stomach?) I started feeling a LOT worse. Fearful it was something to do with my blood, we went straight to Methodist Hospital. Apparently no one gets sick during Houston's icepocalypse, so we were attended to quickly. My parents met us there, and after a few hours and more ultrasounds, I was unable to pass the dreaded "eat or drink while on IVs without vomiting" test, so had to be admitted. (We were able to do all of this without worrying about our two pups at home because of wonderful friends like Ashley and Kelly who knew we'd be worried about them and both offered to come and take care of them. Thank you Jesus for amazing friends who love your dogs, who are actually kinda hard to love.) 

After Methodist's docs finally got in touch with my IVF docs the next day, it was decided I couldn't be treated at Methodist because my IVF docs didn't have privileges there.  Long debacle later, I was seen by my doctors at Houston IVF who were able to get us back on track, feeling like I wasn't going to die at any moment. The fluid in my body was causing all my organs to become irritated and not perform like they should (ie: allowing me to drink water without vomiting.) Then, the dehydration caused my blood to get too thick and be at risk of blood clots, hence the shots. (It's like the pessimists' version of "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie".) Needless to say, we are now back at home and I'm feeling pretty good! I can walk upright, eat toast, drink liquids, and sleep without sitting up! 

The truth is, we know this wasn't close to being Mt. Everest. I was upset in the hospital and said "When will this end??" My parents laughed and said "It doesn't! You'll be back when your baby's fever is too high, or for a broken bone, or when your 28-yr-old daughter is admitted... " (Ha!) We know this is just one of many times when things may not go our way. Luckily this was something that could be handled in just a week or so. For that, we are so thankful. 

While this was one of the hardest weeks, we've been amazed at our friends' and family support. My Mom and Dad sat with us until the wee hours of the night. My mother in law sat with me when Will couldn't be there and helped make sure we asked the doctors all the right questions. Kate and Sarah brought dinner before they even knew we'd have a huge mountain to climb. Coatney brought over an ADORABLE box of yellow things for when we need our dose of sunshine. Kelly cooked a salty and protein filled dinner when she heard the doctors said salt helps alleviate the pain. My mom's best friend brought over Will's favorite food, to make sure he had his dose of TLC, too. Ashley was texting at 3am to ask for updates. Jessica and Treadway cried with me and sent pictures of puppies. (Does that ever NOT cheer someone up?) Laura was updating our sunday school class and then they all sent flowers. One of Will's best friends offered to blend up his dinner for me when he heard I was only on a liquid diet. (That's creativity!) I even had a best friend in Finland checking-in constantly and a sister on vacation in Jamaica calling for updates! (We like to ensure our prayers went international.)  SO many people have texted or called with their cheers of support or prayers of concern. I'm telling you... the love we've received has been incredible. I'm taken back by how friends can rally together when a mountain needs climbin'! Thank you to ALL of you. You helped us tremendously. Who knew you guys would come in handy so much?

One of my friends struggled for years to get pregnant and now has a precious son. She emailed me to tell me that those sleepless nights that people warn you about seem like a cakewalk after going through everything to get there. I like her attitude, and am looking forward to that cakewalk! (Also, God, since I DID have to endure this whole OHSS thing, can you go ahead and make my kid sleep through the night at a really young age? I'd appreciate that.) 

Here's to a week of not climbing!
Kendall and Will

ps. For those of you actually following this crazy cycle, we have 16 blastocysts! 27 were harvested, and 16 have made it to the "frozen" state. We'll get genetic results back on those 16 embryos in a couple of weeks. 

pss. To my biggest comfort buddies of all, thanks for being champs this week.

 Mom? You're taking a bath? I'll wait here the entire time. I think something is up. Oh- it's time to sleep? That's cool, too. I'll just hang out within 3 inches of your face in case ya need me.

I don't know what to do so I'll just crawl on Goldie's bed and hang extra close to her and she'll let me know if you need something.  

A Bump in the Road

Sometimes a bump in the road seems like more of a huge mountain. I'm not sure how to make the bump seem more like an anthill and less like Mt. Everest. (I think the answer is time. But since I can't control time, I don't like that answer.) 

After the harvest surgery, we've had a complication. I have severe OHSS, or Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome. We were told there was about a 1-3% chance this could happen before the process began, but of course we never dreamed it would happen to us. While I was being monitored during the stimulation shots, the doctor said my risk of OHSS increased some based on so many eggs forming in the ovaries. (Which we thought was a good thing!) I got on some additional medicine to help alleviate the risk of OHSS. We thought we were good to go.

After the surgery on Monday, I was in pain but the nurses said it was normal. As the days progressed, so did my pain. Vomiting, extended stomach, and not being able to sit-up or walk alone continued to get worse and worse. Today (Wednesday), we went back for an ultrasound and was told I have severe OHSS, which requires surgery. (This is what happened to Giuliana Rancic, for any E! watchers out there.) I check-in tomorrow for my meeting with the anesthesiologist at 8:30am, and then surgery will follow immediately after. 

OHSS is when pockets of fluid form around the organs. In simple terms, the ovaries were so enlarged that after the eggs were removed, they didn't want deflate so they started pulling fluid from the intestinal system. This causes fluid pockets to form around the intestines. This can be very dangerous to your organs, so it requires immediate surgery to remove the fluid if it reaches the "severe" stage. 

This new little "bump" has caused us to be pretty down, to say the least. Luckily we have amazing friends and family who have lifted us up with jokes, prayers, dinners, and trashy magazines. A "thank-you" to those who allow us to lean on them during these harder moments will never be enough. 

We will keep you updated on what comes next. This blog update seems to take 1-2 days to send out, so it's possible I'm home already and feel like Mt. Everest is in our rearview mirror! 

Love,
Kendall and Will

Harvested.

Welp, I've been harvested! Trigger shot went great on Saturday night, and we went in first thing yesterday morning for the surgery (Monday morning.) Everything went well, I'm just very glad it's over. I won't write a lot now because I was taught that if I don't have anything nice to say, to not say it all. I'm hoping I'll start to feel better physically very soon and will be a bit more optimistic about this process!

They were able to harvest 26 eggs which is really, really good. We got a call today that 17 were able to become embryos. We'll know in 5 days how many survived to become blastocysts (the next stage of an embryo), and then in 2 weeks we'll know the genetic results. Fingers crossed that as many survive as possible throughout each stage.

We will write more when we know more. Love to all!


Before photo:
(I won't show the after. It aint pretty.)