The Things She Carried

[inspired by Tim O’Brien’s novel, The Things They Carried]

She carried 758 needles, 170 suppositories of the vaginal variety, and hundreds of blood draws—she was told she had good veins, like that was some kind of prize to win. She was weirdly proud of her awesome veins, because in this game of carrying and dropping, losing and winning, there’s not much else to be proud of.

She carried 63 ultrasounds, some of them a routine check for follicles, some looking in vain for beating hearts, some checking to make sure “the products of conception” no longer existed inside of her.

She carried names of drugs she could barely pronounce—Menopur, Follistim, Ovidrel, Ganirelix, Intralipids, Lovenox, Prednisone.

She carried four IUIs, three IVFs, 66 follicles, 33 eggs and 20 embryos. Some of these embryos were placed back inside of her, and some never grew beyond a handful of cells. All were loved.

She carried lesions on her ovaries, cervix, uterus and bladder. She carried a blood clotting disorder called antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. She carried overactive natural killer cells, which weren’t really killing much except teeny-tiny embryos too little to fight for themselves.

She carried one laparoscopy attempt. One actual laparoscopy. Three egg retrievals. Two transfers. Two D & Cs.

She carried 1,938 miles of travel—from the house to the fertility clinic; from the clinic to work; from Philadelphia to Manhattan for surgery; from Philadelphia to Woodbury to visit what she hoped would be a miracle doctor; from Philadelphia to Woodstock to spend the day with a fertility visionary. She carried $726 in parking garage fees, and even one parking garage accident.

She carried Please Gods and plea bargains. She carried what-ifs and what-will-I-do-nows.

She carried special diets—no gluten, no dairy, no sugar, no air.

She carried the love of a good man, but she carried it clumsily and sometimes carelessly. She lashed out. She yelled. “Why can’t you carry any of this for me?” she wanted to know. There was no good answer to that question—he knew it and she knew it, and at the end of the day she was lucky to still be holding his heart.

She carried the memory of lost babies—three at last count. First was Gabriel. She lost him on the bathroom floor at work, and by the time she got to the hospital she was so bloody it looked like she was starring in a Carrie remake. Then there was Anna, who was confirmed genetically normal and therefore should have lived, but didn’t. Anna, who said au revoir to the world on Christmas day, but who would never open a single present. Finally, there was Baby B, a loss too new to even get a name.

She carried a persistence that even she admitted was insane. She carried advice from relatives, friends, acquaintances, the checkout lady at Target, wondering why she was doing this to herself, why she didn’t just give up. Stop this nonsense. Be happy for what you have. Halt. Cease and desist before you ruin yourself, your job, your marriage. And she did want to stop, she did. But she needed to try one last time. One more needle, one more blood draw, one more doctor. One more.

And now.

Now she carries a baby inside of her, a little girl, no bigger than a winter squash. She feels her kicks, taps and nudges, and they feel like hope. She still carries the what-ifs—so many what-ifs—but now she carries something else as well—trust. Trust that this is the soul she is meant to meet. She sings to her baby every night, hands on her belly, heart wide open as a summer sky: ‘twas grace that brought you safe thus far, and grace will lead you home.

I Will Not Let Fear Win

Hi, guys. I’m sorry about the whole disappearing act. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.

First of all, let me clear the air and tell you that I’m pregnant! My first beta was 910 (for those of you that geek out on this stuff like me). I didn’t have another beta for five days, and I told them only to let me know if there was a problem. I did not want to spend needless hours analyzing or worrying about anything, so I don’t have a second number to report.

One of the reasons I didn’t let you know before now is that my blog is not anonymous, and I definitely felt too fragile to announce it to, like, anyone I know who may be reading. I’m still not ready to announce it to the General World and won’t be for a long while, so if you know me in real life, please keep it on the low. Thanks, love you!

The other reason is fear.

I had a few days to just be like, “yay!” And then things started getting weird. First there was our 5 weeks ultrasound. They saw one gestational sac with a yolk sac. And one gestational sac that was measuring two days behind with nothing in it. The doctor said it could go either way at this point. The smaller sac could grow, or it wouldn’t develop and would be reabsorbed into my body. Ok. I was absolutely thrilled that the one looked as it should, but I was also worried about the other one. Eventually, I made my peace and decided that things would work out as they were meant to. In great news, both embryos implanted exactly where they were meant to in my uterus this time. Phew.

Then two days, later I started bleeding. My doctor warned me that I might have some brown spotting because the twins are stacked on top of each other like sardines. “It’s like a construction zone in there,” he said. But this was not brown, it was bright red. It wasn’t a ton, but certainly enough to freak me out. I think Tim and I were both having flashbacks to my last pregnancy. I figured I had a blood clot in my uterus, just like last time. Tim and I were both angry. I threw the picture of my embryos across the room (sorry, embryos, I still feel bad about that). I went to bed expecting to wake up in the middle of the night soaked in blood. It didn’t happen, but I still had some light bleeding in the morning. I called my clinic and they told me to come in.

I went in fully expecting them to tell me that I was at least losing the smaller twin. But no. The smaller twin had grown and now had a yolk sac. They didn’t see a blood clot in my uterus. They said the bleeding could be because my progesterone was low. People, my progesterone was 6.5. I’m pretty sure your period starts when your progesterone drops below 5. The thing about this is that my clinic knew about this number on Friday, but did nothing about it. Only after the bleeding did they up my dose. I was furious. My number is up to 23 now, by the way, after the dose increase, so we are good there. Anyway, the second reason they gave was that the babies could just be burrowing in and irritating everything. The doctor put me on bed rest for five days, told me to work from home and sent me on my way.

I continued to spot until yesterday. I went to bed every night wondering if I would wake up covered in blood. I will probably wonder that tonight as well, and I don’t even know for how long. To say this week has been hard has been an understatement. Being alone in my house all day, with nothing to do but think, did a number on me. Whenever I would do something simple like go downstairs and heat up my lunch, the spotting would start again. I was terrified to move. I was terrified to go to the bathroom. I was terrified to do anything.

Also, during the last two weeks, I developed what I thought was a UTI. I went to Urgent Care, they agreed probably a UTI. I took the full course of antibiotics and then they called to tell me that my culture actually came back from the lab negative. I am having an intense burning pain in my pelvis. It’s so bad that it sometimes keeps me awake. I followed up with my GP. She said maybe it’s bacterial vaginosis. She suggested just treating it in case it is, but that doesn’t sit well with me. I’m seeing doctor Braverman in two days, so I will ask him to advise me then. Hopefully he’ll have some insight. I’m scared that whatever it is triggering my immune response and will harm my babies. You see a common theme here?


Yesterday I went back to my clinic for a follow-up ultrasound. I was 6 weeks 1 day. The tech first checked out what I assume was the smaller twin. There was a yolk sac still and what she said looked like the beginning of a fetal pole. But no heartbeat. She said, “We’ll just have to see what happens with that one.” My heart sank.

Then she zoomed in on the other sac, and there it was: a glorious heartbeat. A heartbeat! You guys, I have never let out a bigger sigh of relief in my life. I cried. The heartbeat couldn’t be measured yet, but she said that’s normal for this early.

Basically, our smaller embryo has a 50/50 shot at pulling through. The nurse said you can start seeing the heartbeat anywhere from day 29 to day 33. I was there on day 30. So it could just need another day or two. Or it could stop developing. It’s been two days behind the entire time, so I’m choosing to believe right now that it is a fighter and it just needs those two days to catch up.

My wise and amazing friend said to me yesterday that if that second soul is meant to join our family, he or she will continue to grow. And if not, I still have one healthy baby with a heartbeat, and I will have a slightly easier pregnancy without the risks of a twin pregnancy. I love both of my babies already, so one not making it will definitely be a blow. But she is right. Whatever is meant to be, will be. I want whatever outcome leads to a healthy pregnancy and delivery, and I’m going to leave it right there. The universe can work out the rest.

On Monday, we travel to New York to meet Dr. Braverman for the first time. He will do an ultrasound and look at blood flow to the uterus. I will be 6 weeks and 4 days at that time, so if the smaller twin’s heart is going to beat, it will have started by then. At least we won’t have to wait very long for answers.

I am beyond grateful to be pregnant. Beyond. I am thrilled we saw a heartbeat. I still can hardly believe it. But I’m scared. So scared. Every second of every day. Will I bleed again? Do I have some weird pelvic infection that’s hurting my baby/ies? Will the smaller twin make it? Will we go to our ultrasound on Monday and find out we lost everything? I’ve been so scared that I couldn’t even bring myself to blog about it. I’ve been hiding. Cowering, really.

But I refuse to keep doing this to myself. I don’t want to deprive myself of the joy of being pregnant. So I am determined to climb my way out of this one.

After our first ultrasound I said to Tim. “I don’t even know how to feel.”

Tim said, “You should feel happy. All our dreams are coming true.”

And that right there is what I need to focus on. One day at a time.

I can do this.

Crankyville, Population: 1

I hate the two-week wait. Seriously. Waiting can shove it.

Of course, my wait is longer than two weeks because my clinic schedules pregnancy tests like a million days after transfer. At my old clinic, I had to wait 9 days for a beta. Not bad. I don’t remember feeling particularly tortured during that time. But now? Forget it. This wait feels endless.

I’m not going to test early. I do not want a seat on that roller coaster. I’ve seen too many negative pregnancy tests in my time. I don’t ever want to look at one, ever again. The beta shall remain the Final And Only Word on the matter.

I promised myself I wouldn’t start analyzing symptoms. For those of you who don’t know, everyone who does IVF or a frozen embryo transfer takes progesterone. Fun fact about progesterone: it mimics pregnancy symptoms. So there’s really no way to tell if you’re feeling pregnancy or progesterone. Which means analyzing symptoms is useless. However, a few days ago I started feeling nauseous. I fooled myself into thinking this was a legit sign. Since I wasn’t feeling it up to that point, it couldn’t be the progesterone, right?

Yeah, well, it’s not the progesterone, but it is something that has nothing to do with a pregnancy. I realized this morning that I started feeling nauseous at the exact same time I switched out my calcium brand. And calcium often makes me super sick to my stomach. So yeah, boo. I’m annoyed that I let myself fall into that trap.

There’s been good news in the last two weeks, though: one of our embryos made it to freeze! Huzzah! Anyone who knows my history knows that a cycle yielding 3 decent-quality embryos to transfer and one to freeze is HUGE for us. We will never have a freezer full of blastocysts like some of you lucky bloggers out there, but I am so incredibly grateful for one. We also have an embryo leftover from our first cycle, which means we have two frozen embryos total, all ready for another transfer if needed. But I really hope we don’t need it. I just heard from Braverman’s office that we have to get the full panel of immune testing done again before we can start another transfer. Those tests take six weeks to come back. This means we likely wouldn’t be able to do another transfer until January as our clinic closes for several weeks in December. Mother effer.

I’m just cranktastic today, there’s no getting around it. I’m tired of this wait. And sick of infertility in general. Like, I am so over it. I’m having a grand old time throwing a pity party for myself. I’d invite you guys, but you don’t want to come. It would probably be the lamest party you ever attended.

Meet The Kids!

Today we transferred three day-3 embryos. I was really hoping for a day-5 transfer, but our little cellular bundles had other ideas. In order for my doctor to OK a day-5 transfer, I needed to have at least four 8-cell, grade-A embryos on day three. As of this morning we had two grade-A embryos, two grade-B embryos, and four others that were pretty fragmented or lagging behind.

I was semi-upset when I got the news that we’d be transferring today. In my head, getting to a day-5 transfer meant that my embryos were good quality. I felt misled by Dr. Braverman — after all, he promised me my embryos would be better quality this time around. What a cad! However, I just looked back at my day-3 report from IVF #1, and I had fewer decent embryos at that point than I did this morning, and we did a day-5 transfer anyway. So it seems that my new clinic is just more conservative with day 5 transfers. And you know what? I’m ok with that. I did not want to end up with nothing to transfer. No thanks.

The morning did not go smoothly. Tim wasn’t allowed into the OR area. The acupuncturist accidentally needled my left calf so hard that the entire muscle cramped up. The embryologist felt the need to tell me, multiple times, that just because two of my embryos were grade A did not mean that this cycle was going to work. Um, WTF? I finally said to her, “Look, I know that grade-A embryos guarantee nothing. This is my 3rd cycle. I’m just looking for some hope here.” Then the doctor was an hour late to my procedure. I had to pee so bad that my whole body was sweating. And when it was all over, the doc did not bother saying “goodbye” or “good luck” before he left the procedure room. Again, WTF?

Needless to say, I was on the edge of tears all morning. I tried listening to my meditations and all that biz, but none of it was really helping. The clinic is just awful, and unfortunately we have to use them because they are the only one in our area who works with outside doctors. The one bright spot was the nurse in the transfer room. She was awesome and totally kept the morning from careening off into The Bad Place Of No Return.

The actual transfer itself went off without a hitch — super fast, no weird catheter malfunctions, no embryos stuck in the tube, etc.. And now I have three embryos  back where they belong, which is really all that matters in the end — not what day they arrived there.

So without further ado, meet our three beautiful babes. We transferred both grade-As and 1 grade-B. The rest will continue to grow, and we’ll find out their fate on Wednesday. Say “Hi,” kids!


When we picked Lettie up from the babysitter I showed her this picture.

“These are embryos,” I told her.

She looked mildly interested, so I asked, “Which one is your favorite?”

She immediately pointed to the chap on the bottom right.

Ooooh, I thought, maybe that one is The One.

Then she said, “Do we eat embryos?”

Aw, my little cannibal. Sprinkling embryos on her cereal.

Anyway, I’m feeling pretty good right now. Maybe not the zen-master self I was in my last post (ok, not at all), but still pretty decent. I carried the picture of our three babes with me everywhere today. I propped it on the couch and the embryos watched some football. They saw Pope Francis perform his historic mass on the Ben Franklin Parkway. I leaned them up against a trivet and there they stayed as we ate our dinner.

And really, I can’t help but think today is a fortuitous day. There’s a supermoon lunar eclipse tonight. The pope was cruising around my city, kissing babies and spreading his holiness everywhere. And, perhaps most unbelievable of all, the Eagles won.


Signs, people, signs.

All That’s Left To Do Is Let Go


For the past two weeks, I’ve been preparing my body with blood thinners, steroids and intralipids. There is a constellation of hematomas on my abdomen, like a map of our progress, a connect-the-dots path to our baby. Right before each shot, Tim and I hug. Then we send up a silent prayer to that spirit we know we are meant to meet. I don’t know what Tim says, but mine goes a little something like this: I love you. I’m open to receive you. Please come home.

In three days, all nine of our embryos will be defrosted. They will grow and divide in their mysterious way, and if all goes well, we’ll transfer two blastocysts on Tuesday.

Five months of preparation have come down to this one day. The trips to New York, the surgery, the immune testing, the supplements, the new doctors, the shots, the procedures, the blood work, the renewed hope—all lead to Tuesday.

Am I ready for it?


If it works, I feel prepared to navigate the challenges of pregnancy after infertility and loss. I’m not saying it will be easy, but I believe I can do it without losing my sanity. If it doesn’t work, well, of course I’ll be crushed, but I will be ok. This is one thing I now know without a doubt: I will always be ok. I will hurt, sometimes so much that I won’t want to open my eyes in the morning, but I will keep going. I will heal.

And so, one way or another, this epic quest is finally coming to a head. I’ve searched far and wide to find the answers I needed. I’ve prepped my body. I’ve prepped my mind. I truly believe I’m giving this baby the best possible chance to make its way to us.

All that’s left to do is let go. To let what is meant to be, be. There is so much sweetness in that, and so much peace.

I am ready.

Immune Testing Results & Consult With Dr. Braverman

You guys, have I told you lately that I love you? For real. Your comments on my last post were just beyond. Not to mention my friends in real life that reached out to me as well. Thank you everyone. A million times over.

Last Tuesday I had my Skype consult with Dr. Braverman and found out the results of my immune testing. Basically, all the findings were consistent with endometriosis. This is pretty good news overall – there’s nothing else more sinister lurking on the sidelines.

Warning: I’m about to get very long-winded and detailed. I want to share as much as possible in case I can help anyone on the interwebs searching for information.

What the testing found:

I am genetically predisposed to endometriosis (duh at this point), Grave’s disease, Hashimoto’s thyroiditis, Antiphospholipid Syndrome (this one is no surprise either), Celiac, psoriasis and psoriatic arthritis

This does not mean I have any of these things–it just means I have the genes that would allow them to develop. Or something. I’m disclaimering right now that I barely understand all of this immune biz, so most of the explanations in this post will likely be at least semi-bogus.

Other things that are awry in my immune system:

My white blood cell counts are a little low. This is consistent with endometriosis, but I forget why.

My anti-cardiolipins are still testing as highly positive.

My natural killer cells and CD8+ T-cell levels are through the roof. Both are in the 98th percentile. Meaning, of all of Dr. Braverman’s patients, 2% of them have higher natural killer cells and CD8+T-cells than me. Whoa.

So why is this significant? Basically, both of these types of cells are totally normal. Everyone has them in their bodies. They fight off cancer, viruses and the like. But if they are too active, they see an embryo as a foreign body and kick it out.

To sum it up: I have endometriosis. This negatively impacts egg quality for a variety of reasons, two of the main ones being that it creates inflammation in the reproductive organs and also messes up the mitochondria in my eggs. This makes it really hard to produce eggs that actually turn into babies. Then, on the off chance that I do make a healthy embryo, the anticardiolipins, natural killer cells and CD8+T-cells kill it. On many levels, my reproductive system is – no, was – screwed! Was. It’s a whole new world now.

What Dr. Braverman suggests:

Luckily, everything that he found is straightforward to treat! Huzzah.

The first step is to remove the endometriosis, which I have already done.

Next, we wait two cycles in order for the inflammation to die down. I’m a little less than halfway through this.

Then he recommends another IVF cycle. As some of you know, I have an embryo still frozen at my old clinic. He said it’s not impossible, but very unlikely given what we know, that this embryo is genetically normal. So he recommended holding off on transferring that one for now.

After the IVF cycle we’ll freeze all embryos, ideally on day five. Apparently, the drugs from the IVF will make my immune response worse, so no fresh transfers for me. He then wants to do something called mitochondrial testing on the embryos. This is apparently a brand-new test. Instead of genetically screening the embryos, it tests only the mitochondria, which is apparently the most important factor for endometriosis patients. I’m not sure if we’ll do this yet. I need to look into it. He does not recommend traditional genetic screening.

Finally, we’ll do a frozen transfer, using Dr. Braverman’s immune protocol.

The immune protocol will include:

Lovenox (a blood thinner)

Steroids (reduces inflammation)

Intralipid IV infusions (this is, like, straight-up fat, I think. I don’t even remember what it does, but it sounds like some mad scientist hootenanny. Sign me up!)

All of this will be done at our new clinic, with Dr. Braverman consulting on the frozen transfer. The new clinic is about an hour away from us, which is a major downer, but our old clinic won’t work with outside doctors, and this one does.

Other recommendations from Braverman for patients with endometriosis:

Cut out gluten (I’ve been gluten free for a year or two now, so we’re good there.)

Cut out dairy (I’ve also been dairy free for a while. Dr. B. says a little dairy every so often is fine. It’s not as much of an issue as gluten.)

Eat organic

Take a crapload of supplements.

Here’s the supplement list, if you’re interested:

Pycnogenol and Resveratrol (antioxidants that reduce oxidative stress and lower reactive oxygen species in the follicle, improving egg quality)

Melatonin (an antioxidant — it has been shown in the literature to increase the number of FSH receptors on the follicles in patients with endometriosis. I may not be able to stick with this one, btw, as it appears to be exacerbating my asthma)

VSL#3 probiotics (to lower the level of inflammation by increasing the production of IL10 in the blood. If anyone knows what IL10 is, let me know.)

Fish oil with Omega 3 (didn’t get an explanation for this)

Mitochondrial optimizer (helps to improve mitochondrial function in the egg, which increases the competence of the nucleus. This leads to higher euploid rates and better embryo performance)

Vitamin D3 (to help decrease natural killer cell activity)

Greens formula (didn’t get an explanation for this)

General notes:

He said that, after surgery, I have about a one-year window until the endometriosis comes back.

His official word is that one cup of coffee a day and drinking socially is fine. He’s firmly in the everything-in-moderation camp. So, guess what guys? If I want a friggen glass of wine, I’m having a friggen glass of wine. No more guilt!

He called me young! Well, kinda. When I asked him if I should be taking DHEA, he was all, “That only works for older women, not women who have diminished ovarian reserve for other reasons.” Consider my life made. It’s not often that 38 is classified as a younger woman in the fertility world. I’m taking that and running with it.

Whew! Are you still awake? I am, but only barely. If you’ve read this far, you are a rock star.

And with that, I’m signing off. Must go to bed. Tomorrow we meet the doctor at our new clinic for the first time. I hope we like him (and the clinic) because we really don’t have much choice in the matter.

‘Night, dudes. Sleep tight.

Change Of Plans

istock_000007309956xsmall_crop380wSo after my last post, I was feeling good. I had a plan. I was going to follow that plan, but I didn’t feel attached to the outcome. I felt like our child would come to us in whatever way he or she was meant to.

But what ever goes according to plan? Nothing, you say? That’s right. Nothing.

Warning: this might get long. And boring. Long and boring, yay!

This week we had our two second opinion consults. First up was CCRM. We spoke with Dr. Surrey and he was quite lovely. He had some interesting suggestions. One was that Tim get a next-level sperm test, the name of which escapes me now. Then he suggested I do a double trigger shot. He was thinking that the reason I had half as many mature eggs as follicles both cycles was because they weren’t responding properly to the trigger. He also does not consider someone DOR if they have normal FSH, AMH and antral follicle count. Finally, he said that I might as well transfer our frozen embryo at my current clinic before coming out to Colorado, and send him a thank you note if it works. We liked him. I think CCRM is a great clinic. I think they have amazing labs. Other than the labs, though, I didn’t feel like they had much more to offer us than our current clinic. And the multiple trips to Colorado alone would put us in a bad financial place, not to mention the out-of-network costs for the actual treatment. Case closed.

The next day we spoke with Dr. Braverman. He is a reproductive immunologist. This is a very new field, like so new there are only a couple of these doctors in the country. I first heard about him through my friend over at Spirit Baby Come Home. She has had a lot — way too many — miscarriages. She worked with Dr. Braverman and is now a few weeks away from giving birth. As soon as I heard of him I thought, Hmmm, that guy sounds interesting.

One of his main areas of research is endometriosis, particularly “silent endometriosis,” which is where you have the condition, but experience no symptoms. This piqued my interest because a close relative had this exact thing. She was diagnosed with unexplained infertility and had multiple IVF failures. They accidentally discovered that she had endometriosis during a surgery for something else. They removed it and then her next IVF worked. I’ve asked both of the doctors at each of the clinics I’ve been to if I should be concerned about endometriosis based on my family history. They both said that, no, I shouldn’t be worried. Even if I had endometriosis, the way to work around it is IVF.

Braverman completely disagrees with my doctors’ assessment. Through his reasearch he’s learned that endometriosis negatively impacts egg quality, often making it look like a patient has DOR, when in fact they don’t. He also says that Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome typically goes hand in hand with endometriosis.

With every mishap that happened these last few months — miscarrying the genetically normal embryo, getting diagnosed with a blood clotting condition — I started to wonder if I should contact him. But he is a recurrent miscarriage specialist and I’ve “only” had two, so I felt weird about that. Plus, I was comfortable at my clinic (I really do love them!). And finally,  Braverman is beyond expensive.  So I never pulled the trigger. I kept thinking about him, though, and wondering. Then after that last failed IVF and DOR diagnosis, I was like, ok, let me at least talk to the guy.

So I did. I had read a bunch of his articles before we spoke to him, so I was not surprised in the least when five seconds into the phone conversation he was like, BOOM, I think you have endometriosis. He said my family history, combined with my elevated anticardiolipins, combined with my diminished ovarian response, points strongly towards that diagnosis.

Even if what he was saying was true, the fact remained that we couldn’t afford to get treatment with him without sacrificing every penny we had and then some.

But then he told us that he would collaborate with a doctor about 45 minutes from us. This is huge. That means I could be under his care and still in-network with my insurance. Then his financial person got on the phone and said that if I needed surgery to remove endometriosis, the hospital they use is in our network. Meaning the surgery would be fully covered, too. This is even huger. I figured he would be recommending surgery, but I knew there was no way in hell we could swing out-of-network surgery. But it turns out that the only out-of-network things we’d have to pay for would be his initial testing and consulting fees.

Uh, so all of a sudden this doctor that I thought was totally out of reach just became a real possibility. It felt like the Universe had tipped its hat to me and said, “Here you go, wish granted.”

So we’re doing it. We figure the only thing we have to lose is time. The soonest we’d be able to do an IVF going this route would be September. We were just about to start a cycle at our current place in two weeks. That means we would be done with that cycle and, if needed, a frozen transfer and potentially be onto adoption by September. Now everything will get pushed back by several months.

But it feels like we would be doing that next cycle at our clinic just to do it. Which is kind of a yucky feeling. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Dr. Braverman is a miracle worker, at least not for everyone, but I do think that immunology is really the only avenue we haven’t explored yet. And, provided that he actually finds an issue, I think we have a better chance with him than our current doctor. How much better, I have no idea. It’s still nowhere near a sure thing, or even on the right side of the odds.

Then there’s always a risk that we do all the immune testing and get the surgery, and he finds absolutely nothing. I think in that case I would feel pretty stupid that my hunch led me nowhere.

In the end of the day, there is no right answer. But I do think it’s worth giving Braverman a shot.

In the meantime we plan to continue researching and saving for adoption. We’re going to try and do as much of the adoption leg work as we can so that if this hail-mary IVF doesn’t work we can jump right into it.

But who knows, maybe it will work. You just never know.