Another Thanksgiving, another recipe

Thanksgiving in the time of fertility treatments: not the easiest time to feel thankful. There is a lot to be grateful for, most notably having access to healthcare that actually allows me to blow a year of my life banking embryos. But it'll be easier to feel gratitude once the banking is over. For now, saddled with this headache, I've got to keep the drinking to a minimum. As such, this year's new recipe was a non-alcoholic mulled wine, which actually turned out good enough that even the booze drinkers were helping themselves.

Thanksgiving 2024: good friends, good food, and a third consecutive year without moving (after moves during 6 of the first 7 years we were together). Overall, we've got a lot to be grateful for. I'll work on the gratitude stuff once I'm out of the fertility trenches.

I promise I won't be one of those nightmare bloggers with a five paragraph story before getting to what actually matters, so here you go:

Non-alcoholic mulled wine

Ingredients (for 4 servings)

• 750 ml bottle of non-alcoholic red wine - we grabbed the non-alcoholic Chateau Diana Merlot
• 2 cups of water
• 8 cloves
• 6-9 blackberries
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 3 star anise
• 1 sliced orange
• 1/8 - 1/4 cup brown sugar (to taste)

Instructions

1. Mix all the ingredients in a saucepan and place on medium-high heat just until the wine begins to boil.
2. Reduce to low heat and simmer for 20-30 minutes.

Easy! And it's flavorful enough that several people even asked if there really wasn't alcohol in it. A nice little fertility-journey-inspired success.

Not totally broken

I did a thing! I sneaky ran a 5k 5 days post-op. In a year where my body's felt generally worthless, today it showed me it's not totally broken. In fact, after having actually respected doctor's orders and not run for the past two months, I did better than I'd expected. (You're not supposed to run while taking fertility stim meds nor during the first two weeks post-egg-retrieval-surgery, which means no running at all while back-to-back cycling like I do.)

Initially, I'd signed up for this race as a way to reclaim my body post fertility treatments. So much for that. But the registration fee was non-refundable, so I figured I'd find a way to be a finisher. I'd been prepping for today with a whole lot of morning power walking with Lily, much to her chagrin. Five days ago, on the morning of my latest egg retrieval, I heard a nurse tell the patient on the other side of the curtain to abstain from all but "light" exercise including "walking or a gentle jog." The seed of an idea took root, and I obviously had to test how gently I could possibly jog today without feeling any sorts of scary pain. It turns out, respectably so. I didn't give it 100%, but I ran in a focused style to ensure minimal gut jostling and I came out the other side with no ovarian torsion and a solid finish time. It was so nice to get to be proud of my body for once in 2024.

Not too bad for five days post-op.

Capable

Today I was capable. I dragged my behind to another egg retrieval, the most seemingly hopeless one yet. From getting the news mid-baseline-appointment that we'd lost all my embryos from the previous cycle and having my doctor suggest we cancel this cycle due to poor initial indicators, to having some last minute rallying of the follicles only for hope to be dashed by dropping estradiol levels forcing me into a premature retrieval, all while bearing the news of this past week's election results, I'm amazed I rode the emotional rollercoaster all the way into today's surgery. With a heavy heart, I negotiated special terms to today's retrieval to cut our losses by electing not to fertilize (and save on the out-of-pocket costs) if we retrieved fewer than five mature eggs. I wasn't finding much hope to hold onto.

Having awoken at 3am today, I peaced out of our condo around 4:30am and walked all the way to the clinic just because I couldn't bear waiting around anymore. The universe did its best to cheer me on with an inspirational sign in the window of a car parked around the border of Emeryville and Oakland telling me I was capable of more than I know. Shout out to the random car owner who felt folks might need a cheerleader. After a quick pre-sunrise tour around Lake Merritt, I headed into my clinic to face the music.

What followed was confusing and hopeful and hard to digest. We got eleven eggs, ten of which were mature. That's good, really good by my body's standards. I don't trust it. There have been too many dashed hopes and disappointments this cycle for any of this to make sense. But I was capable of making it through today, and I'll get up tomorrow, and in three days I'll begin priming for cycle number 7.

Cycle 6: heavy on the heaviness, light on the hope, but we made it through.

Civic duty: check

Following along with the blog this year, you'd be forgiven if you thought my non-work life consisted of little more than doctor's visits, timed injections, operating room appointments, pubmed searches, and anxious waiting. Indeed it's been hard at times to live outside the scope of my fertility journey. But occasionally I still enjoy, or at least remember, to be a normal human being, like last weekend when Nico and I did our part to postpone stop the impeding collapse of American democracy, this time with two voices instead of just one thanks to Nico's naturalization!

Election 2024, well underway.

Now to try and breathe easy as a woman banking embryos in a world where Republicans are out to outlaw Nico and my unique chosen journey to a family of our own. Even our fertility clinic sent us a reminder to "vote for what's important to us." Ouf.

We were failed

The fifth embryo banking cycle seemed like the great redemption cycle. After a totally failed, all-aneuploid cycle number four, I can back with a vengeance, retrieving the most mature eggs ever, and churning out a full four cryopreserved embryos including my first-ever day-five embryo. (Women of advanced maternal age, such as myself, tend to have slower-growing day-sixers. Generally, a day-five has better odds of being genetically normal and a stronger overall metabolism.) Sounds like time to breathe a little easier, maybe give ourselves a pat on the back, huh? You'd think.

Instead, we lost all of this cycle's embryos. The laboratory that handles the biopsies, the final step to determine which (if any) embryos are good to go, mishandled all but one of our samples. The only one they didn't botch was the day-six embryo with the worst morphology and it was, unsurprisingly, aneuploid. As for the rest including my little pride-and-joy day-five embryo? They're all still sitting in a freezer with an "untested" status. The actions required at this point to learn if they are healthy will all but destroy them, decimating any chance they'd have of being born.

And for the service of stealing our fifth cycle, we were charged $950. Just to add insult to injury.

Casually offering a re-biopsy as though that doesn't all but eliminate the embryo's chances of being born. Cool. We just stole an entire IVF cycle from you, no big deal, yeah?

The cherry on top? My doctor casually mentioned how "it was too bad how that cycle turned out" while she had an ultrasound wand up my vagina and was dropping the news that the sixth cycle I've just begun is poised to be my worst cycle yet - only eight little follicles all looking mighty surpressed. She even offered to cancel this cycle, in case things couldn't get worse.

Sometimes I wonder if the universe isn't trying to tell me there's an off-ramp from my hare-brained idea that I should become a mom.