Believing Unbelief

            Five needles have gone into my body in five days. I have also had three ultrasounds in five days. Still no good news.

            On Thursday, we went back to the doctor, and things looked promising. I had six(!) follicles ranging in size from 12mm-7mm. A healthy follicle needs to be at least 14mm, but you have the best chance of there actually being a viable egg present if it is 18mm. My blood work (needle number one) showed that my estrogen levels, while still low, were rising. This was also a good sign. In order to ovulate that is one hormone that needs to be elevated. If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know that I typically have low testosterone levels, which is a common symptom of PCOS. I left the doctor’s office with instructions to return Saturday morning for another ultrasound and more blood work (needle number two).

The doctor was thinking that since there were follicles, and there was growth that maybe my ovaries just needed some more time; but when I had my ultrasound on Saturday, things were not any better. In fact, the follicles were shrinking. Now my biggest was only 10mm, and the others were so small that they didn’t even both to measure them. I left the office with four vials of Bravelle (.75ml each), some sodium chloride to dilute the powder, and several needles and syringes that I was supposed to use to give myself an injection on both Saturday and Sunday evenings in my thigh (needles three and four). I hate needles! I can tolerate having blood drawn a lot better, since I have had it drawn nearly every time I have gone to the doctor for two years, but shots… Not for me. The needle goes in so far, which hurts, and then you push a plunger down, which hurts more. That isn’t even noting that the medicine burns a bit as it goes in. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to the Bravelle.

On Saturday, I actually went to my husband’s work to have him give me the injection. I really knew in my heart that I couldn’t do it to myself. We locked ourselves in an officer’s office, I pulled down my pants, and we mixed the medicine. My hands were shaking as I was trying desperately to make sure there were no air bubbles and that I drew out all the solution. I put my hand on my thigh the way the nurse had showed me to help measure, and I smoothed out the skin so that my husband could plunge the needle in. In the haste and shear panic I felt having the needle in my thigh, I helped him push it in deeper, and pressed down the plunger myself. This was a big mistake. I forget a pivotal step: pulling back on the needle to make sure there was no blood present from hitting a vein. When we pulled the needle out, it was literally like a horror movie as blood shot out of my leg. My husband put his hands on my bleeding thigh to keep pressure and it eventually stopped, but it really hurt, and now I have a bruise.

On Sunday, we were able to do the injection at home without any difficulty. No veins hit. No bruise. And, mostly that’s because this time, I didn’t even look. I’ve decided that is a much better way to handle these things.

This morning we went back in for a third ultrasound and my fifth needle for more blood work. The hope was that the follicles would be further matured, and that my estrogen levels would be a little higher. I actually had more follicles today than Saturday, but the biggest was still only 12mm. I have been sent home with more injections, and a follow up appointment scheduled for Wednesday, but I don’t know for sure if this plan will be what the doctor recommends once she has my blood work back.

This whole process is exhausting, and it wears you down. My husband and I had our first “fertility treatment fight” on Sunday. I was trying to tell him that I didn’t want to look at the needle, or help him put it in, because all day I was picturing it in my thigh, and it was making me sick. He laughed, and told me I was over thinking everything, which is partly true, but also pretty unsupportive. Through tears I told him that in this situation he gets to have all the fun, and I do all the work. Think about it. His whole process of making the baby is getting to have sex with me. I, on the other hand, take eight pills a day, and now have to give myself injections. I also told him, that I don’t care if he thinks he could handle any of this better than me, because, the truth is, he can’t! So, he needs to make me feel like I am doing a better job than any woman before me. I need him to reassure me that this is not all for nothing, because I’ve reached a point of feeling both utterly hopeless, and completely hopeful. My husband is a very supportive and understanding man, but yesterday he wasn’t. He redeemed himself today, by going with me to my appointment this morning after working all night.

Feeling both hopeless and hopeful makes my heart feel like it’s on a rollercoaster. I keep coming back to a verse a good friend of mine shared with me in college: “I believe; help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24). I feel this struggle within my soul. I’m angry with God, because He isn’t healing my body fast enough. I’m thankful to God that we haven’t lost a child during this process. I’m mad at myself, because I feel as though I am being punished for something I did in the past; what I don’t know. I’m thankful that my husband has super sperm, so that we have a better chance. I feel guilty for being the problem. And, all these emotions are intensified by the fact that I’m injecting hormones into my body daily. I want to believe it will be worth it someday when I am holding our baby, smelling that sweet baby smell, but most days I feel defeated. I usually try to end this blog optimistic that the next post I will have good news, but I just don’t feel that way right now. So, instead, I am asking for prayer. Prayer not only that this will work, but that I will have the heart to see it through.