Elizabeth’s story – Part One

By Elizabeth, Franklin, Massachusetts

I grew up believing and knowing in my heart two things: I would be a teacher and I would be a mother. There wasn’t anything else I wanted more than these two things. When I started college for a teaching degree, I remember telling my mother that I would go to a sperm bank if I wasn’t married with children by the time I was 39. Of course, I was being facetious. I didn’t think I would ever have to act on that statement. But thinking back, I know how important being a mother has been to me for so very long.

I got my teaching degree and was a teacher for 10 years. First goal achieved. Then, there was my second goal about becoming a mother. Turning 39 was ominously rearing its head and I was single with no children. My biological clock’s ticking was getting a bit louder each year. Would I really do what I said? My desire to have a child has been something that has grown stronger each and every year. I started to give serious thought to going to a doctor and using donor sperm. I started seeing a doctor at Boston IVF and went through all the preliminary testing to see if I was a candidate for IUI.

Everything checked out OK, and I chose my first donor. At age 38, I underwent my first IUI in August 2009. It was not successful. Realistically speaking, I knew the chances were slim that it would work the first time, but I was extremely disappointed all the same. I carried on and waited to get my next period. I tried again in October. Again, no luck. Even after just two tries, I found it hard to talk to those who knew and tell them I hadn’t succeeded … again. I felt like a failure, as though I was somehow preventing things from happening.

Then, my doctor suggested I try Letrozole with my next cycle to try to increase my chances of getting pregnant. I took the prescription and went in for my third IUI in November. A home pregnancy test showed “pregnant” about 12 days later. I could barely believe it; I took three more tests just to be sure. I called Boston IVF and went in for a pregnancy test. I was elated when I got their positive results and was told my numbers were very, very good. I returned three days later for more bloodwork and my numbers had more than tripled. Things were looking great.

I began to settle into the idea that I was pregnant. It seemed so hard to believe, but it was so exciting at the same time. Right away, I began to dream about what my baby would be like and how wonderful life would be once she or he arrived. I went for an ultrasound at six weeks and the technician showed me what she called a “strong” heartbeat. I was given a due date of August 13th. That visit made things seem more real. I left with a picture of my baby, who was just a small dot on the paper – but it was MY baby all the same. I was released from Boston IVF into the care of my regular OB/GYN after that visit.

It was December now and I was almost there! I was going to achieve my second goal in life. I knew that the first trimester was very precarious and that things could change in the blink of an eye. I tried to be careful with myself, and I continued to plan and be excited for my baby.

On January 8, 2010, on my 39th birthday, I awoke to some slight spotting. I knew spotting could be quite typical, but I had not spotted at all yet and I was nine weeks pregnant. I went to work and called my doctor. She said this was not unusual at all, but to come in for an ultrasound just to put my mind at ease. In I went, and I learned that there was no longer a heartbeat; the fetus looked to be only 6 ½ - 7 weeks old. I was heartbroken and numb with disbelief. How could it all come and go so quickly?

My doctor was so kind and sympathetic, and she did her best to reassure me that this miscarriage was my not my fault. It’s so hard to feel that it isn’t my fault. I began to question everything I had done since learning I was pregnant. She told me that I could try again after two periods once the D&C was over. I went in for that procedure on January 11th. My OB/GYN did genetic testing on the fetus. My baby had an extra 21st chromosome and would never have survived. My baby was a girl. She didn’t want to tell me that, but I asked and I needed to know. It made the situation all the more sad and real. I knew “it” was a “she”. My baby’s identity was something I needed to know to help me move on.

Click here for Part Two

Waiting for a baby of my own ... On my own