Stages of grief

I was reading about the stages of grief, and how some folks consider there to be seven instead of the traditionally recognized five. One added to the very beginning is shock/disbelief, and then later in the end there is an element of guilt. The stages are commonly experienced in a particular order, but of course there are lots of possible variations. The grief process is not linear, and it will be different for every person - and every situation. 

It's been really interesting to observe my grief over the first failed round of IVF, and comparing it to previous losses and failures in my life. When the doctor called to confirm that the embryo transfer had failed, there was certainly shock but I don't know that there was ever a point of denial - even before the phone call, I was trying to read clues from my body, and I think my body and my heart confidently knew the results even before they were read to us. 

The next transition was clearly into guilt and depression, where I felt responsible for not only the failure but for the sadness and the grief that it brought to my husband and my son. The embryo was growing and thriving until it was put inside me, and then it disappeared. There's no information or detail about why the transfer failed, nothing immediately obvious to why it didn't stick. But still, seeing the tremendous sadness in my family… it is hard not to blame myself for that.

For the last few days especially, I've been in a deep cycle of anger. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with trying to get paperwork organized in preparation for the second round that we are about to begin, and trying to get the financial aspects coordinated. I'm angry. I'm so angry. I'm so mad that the insurance is as complicated as it is, that it is already an emotional and complicated process even without the added frustration of navigating paperwork. It's overwhelming to the point of exhaustion, trying to make sense of everything and dealing also with another layer of guilt at the overwhelming out-of-pocket costs. 

It feels a lot like drowning. Like clawing desperately to try and stay above surface, because you can swear there's something in the distance and if you can just hold on, it will pay off and it will work out and everything will have been worth the exhaustion and the frustration and every complicated aspect of the experience.

And on top of it: I'm alone. My son was off at his first summer camp, now off with my ex-husband for this week, and next week he goes off to another summer camp for all of July. I can't go to Colorado to be with my husband because of doctor appointments this week, and I'm struggling to figure out if I can go for a few days after my son leaves for summer camp because of the cost of flights. Can we afford flights for me just to not be alone, when we're going to need a flight for my husband a few weeks later for the embryo transfer? And then, more guilt. We're wasting money because I can't handle all these feelings and all this paperwork. We're not the first family to go through this, hundreds or thousands of families have been able to navigate this. So why can't I?

I'm just exhausted, mentally, and I have no idea what it's going to take to get me to the acceptance stage, and whatever sense of hope comes with it.

Ding, Round One

Not the Father's Day we were hoping for.

For almost 5 years now, we've been trying to grow our family, and this past month we got the closest we've been so far. Handfuls of pills, dozens of injections, and half dozen round trips to San Francisco and back, but a few days ago, we got the devastating news that our transfer didn't succeed.

it doesn't mean never, just not this time around. But I'd be lying if we weren't double crushed to have the tough news coincide with Father's Day. The cycle started on Mother's Day, and we hoped that was a good sign from the universe - start on Mother's Day, get our positive result on Father's Day.

I don't know who of the three of us has been more heartbroken this week, because the sadness is tremendous and immeasurable. I'm proud of Noah, whose first response was to hug me and cry, and whose second response was to see if his therapist had any same-day appointments so he could talk to someone right away, because the feelings were bigger than we could handle on our own. And I'm so incredibly in love with my husband Daniel, who is already an amazing father to Noah, and who was here for all the procedures and most of the doctor visits, but he's back in Colorado for work right now and processing this update alone, except for phone calls and video chats.

It sucks and it hurts and it's awful and about ten million other feelings across a wide spectrum of reactions.

At the embryo transfer, Noah watched on the projected screen, and started crying, saying with such relief and excitement, "I'm a brother! I'm finally a brother!" After hearing that the transfer failed, he lit a yahrzeit candle.

There's a tremendous guilt I am carrying for the sadness this has brought to our whole family, and I'm trying my best not to collapse under the burden of responsibility.

The Bubble

This past week was the last day of school here in town, and since one of my son's friends finished eighth grade, we were invited to a barbecue party at the lake this afternoon. It was a nice distraction, to be honest, because my mind has been all over the place the last few days.

I was on the fence about doing pregnancy tests at home before my scheduled beta hCG test at the clinic on Wednesday. Most of me didn't want to know - I know it's silly, but I just wanted to be in my blissful bubble of optimism for as long as possible. Especially since my husband is back in Colorado and whether the news this week is good or bad, I'll be opening that email alone.

But curiosity got the best of me, especially since I've been feeling so many symptoms that I remember from being pregnant with my son - the tiredness especially, a little bit of soreness, and some light back pain. It's hard to cheer for something you can't see or feel any proof of, something that you just have to trust is unfolding as it should. 

So I took one, and it was negative. 

Then another brand a day later, and it was negative.

Then a third brand the next day, one that is supposed to be the most sensitive on the market, and that was negative as well. 

And I just spiraled.

It was like floating in a bubble this last week, from the incredible overwhelming joy of the embryo transfer to the very positive result of the first round of blood tests - and then suddenly, it was like that bubble burst.

It's been long time since I've taken any pregnancy tests. We had bought them by the case when we were trying to conceive naturally, and testing multiple times a month until my period would inevitably show up and we would grieve the failure. I forgot what an absolute gut punch it is to feel so tremendously hopeful and then have that positivity and joy disappear so quickly, like all the air being sucked out of a room. And again, and again, and again.

In a way, I was a little bit relieved when I had my weight loss surgery. It meant at least a year or more of avoiding pregnancy tests, for better or worse, but also - I got to focus on myself for a while, to focus on feeling comfortable in a body that I had come to feel so betrayed by, and so angry with. How is it possible that I got pregnant so easily with my abusive cretin of an ex-husband, but now struggle so significantly with the love of my life? I was so mad. There was a lot of anger and depression and frustration that I tried to bury with food, and in the end I was still angry and still depressed and still frustrated and now almost 400 pounds. Weight loss surgery gave me a chance to work on the physical side effect of my mental and emotional struggles, and therapy has helped me make progress on making peace with the causes.

But now, here I am. Weight is bouncing around the 220s, which is a little bit higher than my lowest weight, but it's where I've been trying to maintain as we have been navigating the IVF process. But even worse than the weight anxiety, is the creeping back of the difficult thoughts that had me struggling with my weight to begin with. And absolutely, so much of that is tied to this whole fertility experience.

At the barbecue today, I was talking with a friend of the family that invited us, and she asked if my son was my only child. Oh yes, I replied, he's enough! It's become my standard answer the last few years, because not only is the truth complicated and painful, but it's not what people are looking for. No one wants to actually hear that you're struggling. No one wants the details of your loss. It's polite conversation at best, between strangers searching for anything to discuss.

She continued though, and asked if we might have more kids in the future. And it caught me off guard, but the answer was still oh I don't know, he's enough! Because how do I say, I might be pregnant right now? I was pregnant last Sunday - impregnated, at least - but now the tests have me scared out of my mind that I've lost this little wisp of hope that I already loved with every molecule of my being. 

So I deflect, and I fight back the tears, and I cry when we get home, laying in bed and watching the clock tick by to 8 PM and my medication alarm so I can do more of the stressful injections that have my butt muscles sore and covered in little injection site spots. As soon as the injection is done, I can go to sleep and enjoy unconsciousness for a little while, a few peaceful moments without anxiety - and then, wake up a few hours closer to Wednesday morning, and the definitive update on where we stand.

Screamers

I woke up this morning feeling tremendously hungry. I came downstairs and had a low-carb protein bagel with cream cheese and my morning meds, then took my son to the last day of elementary school. I hung around for a couple of hours because there was an awards assembly, and then headed out, still feeling bottomless gnawing in my stomach.

I've come to recognize this feeling as part of not only my bariatric lifestyle changes but also my eating disorder recovery. So much of my life, I interpreted it as hunger and so I treated it as hunger - eating unhealthily and in excess to numb the feeling and make it disappear. The reality is, though, that it's a panic and anxiety response more than anything else. It's not my stomach that is wanting right now, it's my soul, my brain, my heart ... something is hurting or feeling empty, and needs soothing.

Something I have found to be a little therapeutic but also helping me recognize my body's cues is to give myself full, unrestricted permission - something I never would've imagined allowing myself to do in my dieting days, let alone seeing it actually work. Whether I am at home or in a grocery store, I tell myself: you can have whatever you want. Look at every item, consider every choice, and if that really speaks to you as what you feel you need, then go ahead and enjoy it.

The remarkable thing is, I almost never end up eating anything at all. Because I look at this food or that, and recognize that it's not truly what I want in that moment. Even though I have given myself full, guilt-free permission to make whatever food choice I want, the reality is that food isn't what I want at all, and allowing myself to recognize it is a big step.

It kind of reminds me of my old days of weight loss, when I was really into Geneen Roth books. She talked about giving into cravings to take their power away, because even if you have cookie dough for dinner, you're not going to have it every single day for the rest of your life, eventually you will get sick of it and it will lose its magic and its hold over you. If I really wanted pizza, I could have pizza - this is me realizing that it's not actually the pizza I want, but the feelings I associate with pizza: reliability, comfort, memories of good times.

There's so much on my mind right now. I've got another six days before my pregnancy test at the fertility clinic, and I am full of nerves about what it's going to say, and whether or not I should test at home ahead of time to mentally prepare myself. Today is four days post-transfer, and my test first thing this morning was negative. It was crushing, but I'm trying to stay hopeful: yesterday's bloodwork was very good, and in terms of numbers, I am only technically three weeks pregnant today, so it's really quite early still. With my son, I had tested around this time also and it came up negative but then I tested again at about five weeks and it was a clear positive. So ... once day at a time, and I'll try to continue to nourish my heart and my brains and my soul in the meantime so they're not feeling so starved.

The Spark

I slept terribly Saturday night into Sunday - it took forever to fall asleep, then I woke up around 1:30 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. It was hard to explain to my husband - I was worried about everything, but couldn't even really put it into words. I couldn't come up with a logical explanation for my anxiety, just ... all of it. What if we show up and there aren't any embryos left? What if there's an issue with the transfer? What if it doesn't work - my husband has to return to Colorado on Wednesday, so if something goes wrong and the cycle fails ... I'll be alone with the information. It's going to be the worst, heaviest thing to hold, and I'm going to have to hold it alone.

My husband is working out of state in a post-doctoral position until April 2026, and what happens next is still up in the air. There had been discussion of creating a full-time position for him managing a lab there, but with this past November's election, the funding seems less secure and everything is much more tentative. Right now, he's trying to create a collaborative research activity between the school in Colorado and the school here in California so he can be employed by Colorado but be home with our family here, especially if this cycle works so he can be here for us during the pregnancy. But it's so up in the air, and it's something I'm trying not to think about too much because I'll spiral and there's already so, so much on my brain's plate right now.

He was able to be here for a few weeks and work remotely so he could be here for the egg retrieval and the embryo transfer, and he'll be here for the first blood test but we'll likely have him at the airport in the afternoon before we get the results. I don't even know what I will do if this fails. I don't know how I will react, if I'll panic and sob or just be numb and retreat into myself. But the odds are, it'll be just me reading the results, and I'll have to process it and then compose myself enough to make a devastating and painful phone call.

The transfer itself went very smoothly, despite the doctor running late - the worst part of the whole thing was that I needed a full bladder for the procedure. The transfer didn't hurt, and it was very quick. My husband held my hand, and my son held my arm, and together - we watched The Spark. My friend Natalie explained it like that - that it's this amazing little *twinkle* that you see, and voilà, there it is. Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise. When the transfer happened, we all had tears in our eyes - and my sweet son squeaked out, I'm a brother! And that make me just as emotional as the rest of it. He wants this so, so badly - we all do of course, but he's the one I hate the most to disappoint.

So now, the dreaded Two Week Wait, where we'll have three blood test appointments - the first tomorrow morning, then two next week. By the end of it, we will know if we're still pregnant or not - which is still not a guarantee of getting through the first trimester or any specific amount of time at all, but it's a first opportunity to exhale - a major mountain cleared, even if we still have so many more to climb.