Five Stages of Grief

Last month we were approved to go ahead with our third embryo transfer. This time we were given a 70% chance of success. We thought those were pretty good odds. Our embryo was pre-genetically screened and deemed “normal.” It was a fair quality embryo and our only girl.

Our transfer went smoothly. Post-transfer, I obediently rested for two days on the couch and used the time to pick out baby girl nursery decor. Man, oh man, I found the absolute cutest, sweetest little girl items to decorate our home. As hard as it was, I obediently refrained from picking up my IVF miracle toddler (much to both our dismay) so we could protect his little sis. Chris gave me shot after shot after shot to help keep my hormones at the perfect levels for our little girl.

As many of you know, there’s not much to do during this time but daydream, so we thought about our daughter a ton. We talked about what she might be like. Chris has always been crazy about the Fourth of July, and her due date was set to be right around that time. He was thrilled. We shopped online for cute little outfits containing more ruffles, floral print, and bows so big they go all the way up to Jesus. We were so excited to become parents of a little girl.

Beta Day was the day before Halloween, and just like that, our hopes were crushed in one simple email. Negative. How was this happening to us again? I felt numb. The news simply wouldn’t sink into my brain. I talked about it with a hollowness in my voice. I couldn’t believe it was true. The tears wouldn’t fall. I couldn’t laugh. All my emotions were frozen. For nearly two weeks I was deep into the first stage of grief: disbelief.

A phone call snapped me out of it. A relative told me she was in the early stages of pregnancy. Due early July. Like we should have been too. Something inside me snapped and all the sudden the suppressed feelings hit me like a Mack truck. Our daughter was gone. There would be no Christmas pregnancy announcement. My belly would not swell with the growing life of my little girl. There would be no big bows, and floral prints. The perfect name we picked would never go to a child of ours. Mason would never have a sister. We were simultaneously bummed for someone telling us their happy news at such an sensitive time, and utterly depressed that infertility has us deep in the clutches once again. I laid on the couch and sobbed for most of the weekend.

The stages of grief are no joke. I feel like my emotions are a pinball machine, and I find myself bouncing from one thought to another. The same thing is happening to Chris and not at the same time. There’s not a lot we can do except feel what we feel and try not to judge our emotions. We still have some grieving to do. We’ve talked to our family therapist, and she’s supporting us through this time. To be honest, most people really don’t comprehend our pain. And why would they? It’s not something the majority of the population has any experience with. Most expect since we have Mason already, we will be fine. He definitely makes us so happy, and we are beyond thankful for him. But our life will always be different moving forward. Part of us will always feel the absence of our daughter. Time may help us heal, but it will never give her back to us.

Our clinic reviewed out charts. Since this is the second embryo we’ve lost that was expected to be a successful outcome, they’ve decided they want to try some new options with us in the future. They want to try an endometrial scratch prior to our next cycle. This brought me to another phase of grief: bargaining. If we’d tried this procedure prior to our transfer, would she still be with us right now? They’re ready for us to move forward at any time. My heart is still broken and in mourning for my daughter. I want to process this. I want to move forward. I’m terrified of another disappointment. It’s hard to say what our next step will be, or when. For now, we are just loving on each other, praying, and trying to find a sense of peace.

Journey to Baby #2

Two and a half years ago I decided to start a blog about our struggle with infertility. Our name, Meet the Hopefuls came from my infertile play on the movie title Meet the Parents. At the time, we were still working toward receiving an official diagnosis. We were completely naive in our understanding of fertility treatments. We thought a simple pill or better timing would allow us go home and get pregnant the good, old fashioned way. Initially, we told no one about what we were facing. In fact, if you’d have told me two years ago that one day I’d be more openly blogging about our struggles with infertility, I wouldn’t have believed you. Or I’d have thought sometime in the future I was going to completely lose my marbles. Nevertheless, I sit here with a stomach full of butterflies as I type our first non-anonymous blog post about our current steps in our building family journey. In moments where I lack courage, Chris says, “get your butterflies to fly in formation!” Bear with me as I harness these fluttery little suckers…

For our first two cycles of IVF we hid in a shroud of anonymity. Very few people even knew we were infertile. Even fewer knew we were pursuing fertility treatment. Even fewer knew about this blog and those who did were people we would’ve openly shared our feelings with anyway. Writing with anonymity felt safe and comfortable. We never censored ourselves. When people in real life made painful comments, we openly wrote about and processed our feelings in the blog. When we were scared, we our fears poured out of our fingertips and onto the keyboard. When we were devastated, we journaled our sorrows. When we got pregnant with Mason, we hesitantly shared our success. We shared all these emotions without a filter because so few people we knew personally were reading our raw emotions as they transpired.

This time things are a little different. For starters, having Mason changed us in a big way. He helped us heal from some of the heartache infertility put us through, and validated our experiences. Having Mason also made us less shy about talking about infertility. We’ve  grown so much by opening up about our personal challenges. Now, our family and friends know about our struggle. Most people are hugely supportive of us. After coming out of the infertility closet, we’ve learned how truly “not alone” we were all along. A surprising number of people in our lives have shared their stories of struggle, loss, and infertility with us too. They’ve told us how thankful they are for our transparency. We hope we’re making the topic of infertility less taboo by our willingness to talk about our experiences. On the other hand, some people in our lives seem to be scratching their head as to why we would share something so deeply personal. Everyone is different, and I hope on some level even our critics can respect our decision and pure motives in helping other people who, like we once did, feel lost, hopeless, alone.

While we’ve come a long way since our initial diagnosis, recently we’ve found many of those old infertile feelings and emotions coming back into play. It all started when we decided to start trying for baby #2. To state the obvious, in our case that doesn’t mean bow-chicka-wow-wow. It means email the nurse coordinator and ask her what the first steps are in starting another frozen embryo transfer. I know, super romantic. Shortly after reaching out to the clinic to get the ball rolling, it hit me. Even after having a baby, we are still just as infertile as ever. That’s right about the time I started noticing the pregnant women–they’re everywhere. We are involved in activities with other parents and babies and children. We’re in a sea of fertile people. Mason gives us the appearance that we fit right in, but at the core we never will.

Our journey to baby #2 quickly brought me back to our old stomping ground; the fertility clinic. My nurse scheduled me for a mandatory hysteroscopy, mock embryo transfer, and cultures, prior to starting our next cycle. The procedures went well. The HSC revealed that there are no polyps or fibroids; my uterus looks good after an emergency cesarean childbirth with Mason. The mock transfer gave my RE the information he needs to place our embryo in the best spot possible. Going under anesthesia this time felt different. When I was told to bring my advanced directive, my heart sank as I thought about my miracle son. Even if the chances of problems are slim, I felt guilty for putting myself in harm’s way when I have a child. Yet, if I want to give my child a sibling, it’s the only way.

Prepping for our third FET coming fall 2017!

Being in the clinic again made the memories come flooding back. I vividly remember sitting and waiting for our first appointment–we were interviewing a new clinic after a failed cycle at the clinic from hell. We were so apprehensive, guarded, and afraid. Yet, we moved forward because that’s the only choice you have with infertility. I remember going in for our egg retrieval with a full bladder, as directed, and how badly I had to use the bathroom! The nurse finally caved and let me pee–just a little bit–so I wouldn’t wet the waiting room chairs. I remember Chris getting in his hospital gown for his second MESA/TESE procedure, and the phone call that followed telling us there were millions of sperm that time around. I remember waiting for blood draws and beta tests and ultrasounds. I remember the agonizing wait to see the doctor the day the nurses suspected I’d had a miscarriage, and what a horrible sense of loss and emptiness we’d felt, only to yo-yo back to security when we found out Mason was okay. I found out my symptoms were due to a disease called adenomyosis I didn’t know I’d had all along. I remember the day we were discharged from the fertility clinic, and how exciting and scary it was to be released to a regular OBGYN’s care.

We have been through a lot in that little clinic. It feels strange to be back. in some ways we feel like we beat infertility–we went on to have a successful pregnancy and healthy baby. At the same time, infertility still holds us captive. We haven’t experienced these feelings for a long time, but they’ve been silently in the background all along. I wonder what our future holds. We still have three frozen embryos–two boys and one girl. We just learned this week that our girl is our lowest quality at a 4BB. All along we planned to transfer her next. And when I found out her quality, all the sudden I found myself bracing for the emotional roller coaster ride. Regardless of our feelings in the matter, we’ll stay on this ride until we’re finished with our family building journey.

The End of Anonymity 

For the first time ever in a post I’m about to share our ACTUAL faces. No weird crops to avoid exposing our identity, and no avoidance with cutesy clip art. It’s taken us awhile to become comfortable with sharing our story without hiding behind a keyboard in a shroud of anonymity. So what’s changed?

For starters, we are tired of feeling like infertility should be something people don’t talk about. Ever since we’ve started opening up, we are absolutely shocked by how many people who have come out of the woodwork to tell us their struggles and grievances with fertility issues and conception. Some people don’t understand why we are being so open about what they view as a very private matter. Those people can worry as much as they want about my life, but not only does it not affect them, it actually hurts others. If we stay silent simply to make others comfortable, friends of ours who are struggling will continue to feel alone and isolated, just like we did for such a long time.

Another thing that changed is we had our miracle IVF baby almost a year ago. We got over that huge mountain we thought we may never climb, and we gained confidence. Now we don’t feel like we are sharing raw emotions as they take place, but we are looking at them in the rear view mirror. It makes our experience a lot easier to talk about. We don’t know what the future holds with our family building, but I can tell you one thing, it’s going to be approached with a lot more transparency.

About three months ago I decided to compete for the title of Mrs. California. I told Chris my goal was to lose the baby weight and promote one of the greatest causes of all: infertility awareness. So with the platform of “Infertility Support and Advocacy” I set off to try to shed some light on our community of warriors. I was completely transparent when speaking with the judges in interview, and they were lovely to talk to. And you you’ll never believe it…they picked me to represent California for 2017!

So now I have this new shiny hat, and I have set out to do great things with it. First, I attended the American Fertility Expo and got to catch a screening of “Vegas Baby.” Holy moly, the tears were rolling. Has anyone else seen it? It hit really close to home.

Then, we attended the Walk of Hope in San Diego with who you all know as baby “Casper” but his name is actually Mason.

Next, I had the opportunity to attend Resolve’s Advocacy Day in Washington D.C. last week. I’ve never done anything more empowering in my entire life. Meeting with members of Congress and sharing our story was life-changing. I felt like I was educating our nation’s leaders on the emotional side of infertility. They were more receptive and empathic than I anticipated they’d be. The experience was one I will never forget, and it gave me such an emotional high that I’ll go back again and again until infertility coverage in this country is so good there’s no need for lobbying on Capitol Hill. 💙

I’ll keep you posted on my journey and events I attend that benefit the infertility community. If you have any suggestions, I’d love to hear them, too!

IVF #2: Upping the Ante

I’m a night owl. I’m definitely not a morning person. There is a direct correlation between my ability to get out of bed in the morning, and my level of excitement regarding the activity that is waking me. Take this morning, for instance. I knew I was getting out of bed early for blood work (my least favorite of ALL needles…but more on that later) and a transvaginal ultrasound. Neither of these tasks are appealing. So I hit the snooze button a few times, and eventually dragged my groggy self out of bed and on my way to the doctor’s office.

The interior of our new clinic looks like a posh hotel. Complete with swanky decor, modern furniture, and sparkly chandeliers we’re reminded of how much we’re paying just to be there. People travel in from all over the world to our clinic (which makes me feel pretty reassured about our selection) so the waiting room is a constant buzz of varying languages and brewing coffee. I honestly love the energy of the place. It makes me feel so much more at ease than our last clinic. There’s definitely still a little awkwardness, as I imagine you feel in any fertility waiting room. There are times when I see people sitting across from me, and I’d love to chat with them. We’re all there for similar reasons, wouldn’t it be nice to feel a sense of community? Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way (it sure seems so!).

After some great people watching, a nurse called me back for blood work. Let’s just call it like it is: I’m a sissy when it comes to blood work. I never complain, and I refuse to make a big deal out of it, I’m just not a fan. I’ve always averted my eyes when a nurse comes at me with a needle and a tourniquet. After all the needles I’ve stabbed myself with over the course of IVF, you wouldn’t think this would be an issue. There’s something different about putting liquid IN the body, versus taking liquid OUT. Today, I decided I’m going to conquer this fear. So I forced myself to watch the nurse as he performed the veinipuncture and blood collection, and guess what? It really wasn’t that bad. In fact, it made me wonder why I’ve been so afraid of blood work all along.

Our meeting with Dr. W was fairly brief. He performed the ultrasound, and I didn’t ask any questions. Part of me wanted to know how many follicles appear to be growing. The other part of me is worried to get my hopes up. I’d honestly rather just find out post egg retrieval so I know for sure. Dr. W said everything is coming along quite nicely, so for now, I’ll take that as a great sign.

We met with a nurse to go over changes in my medication. There are no changes with my Omnitrope, so I’ll continue administering the .25ml/day. However, starting tonight I’ll be doubling my Menopur dosage in the injection I named the Breaking Bad shot.That’s now four vials of Bravelle, two vials of Menopur for a grand total of 450iu of medication going into one shot! I can already barely inject this shot without feeling faint, and now I’m doubling the medication that makes it sting like hell? Oh, I’m super excited. Additionally, starting tomorrow I’ll be adding another shot, Ganirelix to the daily regimen, which I’ve read from other bloggers “stings like a bee.” Seriously, the things we’re willing to do, right? I hope this time it will all be worth it. ❤


I’ve wasted a lot of time and energy holding grudges against insensitive people. Many people who learn of our infertility (which we’ve started opening up about a little more lately) ask at least one or two questions that frankly hurt a lot. If they’re not asking hurtful questions, they’re probably substituting with a really dismissive, unempathetic comment or two.  

In the previous week’s and months I’ve answered these (insensitive) questions calmly, but made a mental note that the person is not kind, empathetic, or someone I feel like talking to about infertility. “Yes, I’m familiar with the concept of adoption, and we have thought about it. However, we are not ready for that step yet, and still have other treatment options available to us before we decide to go down that road.”

Or, I’ve listened to their comments, while politely rebutting their claims, and gently trying to correct their views. “It’s wonderful that your sister’s husband’s cousin who was struggling with infertility became pregnant on her own without IVF. I understand the doctors told her it was impossible for that to happen, and you think perhaps this applies to our situation, too. Unfortunately, with my husband’s condition, the ‘good, old-fashioned way’ isn’t ever going to get us there.”


This morning, I faced my fears and met up with a pregnant friend I’ve been adamantly    avoiding. When she asked how I was doing, instead of glossing over it, I decided to be transparent. I told her this has been the hardest year of my life. I would’ve loved a little empathy, but instead this prompted the adoption question. I felt myself hiding my anger as I gave her canned adoption response listed above. Side note: I feel like people offer up adoption without realizing it is not a solution for infertility, but a solution for being childless. This frustrates me to no end, but I digress…

This interaction with my friend led me to realize, I can’t be upset with people for being insensitive if I’m not going to TELL them their prodding is inappropriate. So, I’m setting a goal for myself. From now on, I intend to tell people when they’ve crossed the line. I’ll do this as politely as possible, but make it clear that the subject is not up for open discussion or input.

I also realized I’ve wasted a lot of energy being upset with people for saying the wrong things. I want to work on this because I know holding grudges isn’t good for me, or those I love. Most people don’t know how to be truly empathic. People love offering advice. Infertile people need empathy, not advice. I’ve been really let down by expecting too much from others. Going forward, I plan to have lower expectations, draw clearer boundaries, and have greater patience. 

IVF #2: Here We Go Again!

Blood draw this morning (hence the pretty, color-coordinated bandage) gave us the OK to start!

We knew it was coming, but somehow this second round really snuck up on us. We’ve been out of town for about a month (Chris was on business, and I tagged along), so our minds were pleasantly elsewhere. I feel like we are finally starting to get closure on the horrendous toll our first IVF cycle took on us. After everything we’ve been through for the past couple of months, I know a fresh start is a good thing.  

Speaking of fresh starts, so far I’m impressed with the new clinic we’re using. I did a drop in for a blood draw today to check my estradiol and progesterone levels. I walked in the door, signed myself in, and a nurse called me back in less than two minutes. I was out of the office and on my way in no time at all. They haven’t charged us anything yet, either. I was totally willing to take out the wallet and fork over the dough today, but they were super nice and said “No need to pay today, your blood draw will be included with your cycle.” Well, alrighty then.

My nurse called my medicine in to the pharmacy in a timely fashion (I didn’t have to remind her once). These details probably sound like very basic things to most IVF patients, but our last clinic was not nearly as courteous. It’s really nice to be pleasantly surprised so far this time around. 

In order to have (hopefully) better success this cycle, we’ve both been on some supplements for the past couple months. Chris has been taking Clomid and Naturally Smart to stimulate his sperm production. I’ve been taking prenatals, CoQ10, DHA, and folic acid. Tonight I start these bad boys:  

Dun dun DUNNN…birth control pills!

I should be starting stims at the end of this month. If I said I was looking forward to another round of stims, I would be lying to you. I still haven’t lost the weight I gained from our last round. I’ve been kindly referring to myself as “skinny-fat.” In other words, I’m a petite person who looks like she could probably stand to tone up and shed a few pounds. Am I going to stress over a little vanity weight? No. Will I be upset if I gain more? Likely. If I have a baby from this will I really care? Not a chance.  

About two months ago (on the day we found out our cycle failed), I deleted my Facebook account. It has been INCREDIBLY liberating. People keep asking me why I did it. The honest answer is I was sick and tired of baby announcements. I’m also completely fed up with Facebook being treated like a digital baby book–it’s like all baby pictures all the time. I’ll be the first person to admit I’m crazy-jealous when I see those pictures. But I also think it’s really excessive. If I’m friends with someone on Facebook, I don’t want to see 250 pictures a week of their newborn infant, as cute as he or she is. Some people really don’t know when to stop. So it’s nice to be away from that. When people ask me why I got off Facebook, I’ve been giving them a variety of reasons. Depending upon how close I am with the person, and whether or not they’re guilty of the aforementioned atrocities will determine whether I’m honest with my answer. 😉 Really though, Facebook was a waste of time, and let’s be honest, I was on there way too much. I’d rather see people face-to-face, and have real relationships with my friends. 

Another random musing, I find it interesting that it’s effortless to be happy for certain pregnant people, and really difficult to be happy for others. For me, I find it really varies upon the person, and how they approach the topic, along with whether or not I deem them to be “worthy” (subjective much? Yeah, I know). If people announce they’re expecting and they’re not married, and have an “oops,” I find that pretty difficult to reconcile. If they’ve been married for a few years, are responsible people, and break the news to me in a sensitive way, then typically I’m pretty cool with it. It doesn’t mean I don’t have my jealous moments, but I figure that’s normal. 

Overall, I feel like I’m finally starting to heal from our failed cycle. I moved on from feeling emotionally dead, and past the intense heartbreak that followed. Now I can go out in public and see parents and children together and not feel like my heart is about to burst. I’m not 100%, though. I am still finding it difficult to see baby bumps, and infants still pull on my heart strings. The scared part of me wonders if we never have a child, if these feelings of jealousy and hurt will ever go away. The hopeful part of me is holding tightly to the idea that this may be the last IVF cycle I ever have to do. 🍃

Think Before You Advertise

We are the perfect demographic to have children. I’m at the maternally ripe age of 31, and I’m married to a man who is 30 years old. We’ve been married 6 years. I’m getting marketed to like I have babies. We’re infertile. Go figure. 

Lately, I’ve noticed that my customized ads and coupons have changed. It started last week when my recommended items for purchase on Amazon included a Diaper Genie, and several other baby toys. In full-disclosure,  I’ve bought prenatal vitamins from Amazon, and I’ve purchased several toys for my nephew via their site. So I understand it might appear to their clever marketing algorithm that I have children, but I don’t. And every time I see these “perfectly placed” ads, I grit my teeth. I actually thought about picking up the phone and calling Amazon, and chewing out their marketing department. Now I know this sounds crazy, but as an infertile person it’s painful to be constantly reminded of what you don’t have. This used to only affect me when I saw children with their parents, or newborns and pregnant women (which are the toughest for me at the moment). Now that it’s affecting me through marketing, I’m getting pretty peeved. 

Today, the clever marketers struck again. After purchasing a set of permanent markers and two camping chairs from Target, the coupon machine spit out a lovely gift for me. A coupon for a discount on diapers. For split-second, I thought about throwing it up in the air and running out of the building screaming. I was able to contain myself. No promises on my future ability to be poised, accept the coupon with a smile, and wish the cashier a nice day. 

So retailers everywhere, guess what? Your marketing algorithms are not infallible. Just because I’m a certain age, married, and perhaps buying certain items that may indicate to you that I am a fertile person, I’m not. I literally LOATHE getting these ads and coupons. Someday, I might appreciate them, but that day is not today. In the meantime, you’re making me feel less inclined to shop with your company.

Failed IVF: How Does it Feel?

No one sets out on this journey to fail. That’s not to say we’re naïve and think this is a guaranteed process. We know the risks involved. We understand getting pregnant is not a promise. We also know we will never have our own child without this risky process. 

Taking the plunge into the world of IVF is scary. We’re handing our reproductive abilities over to doctors. Initially, somehow we find reassurance in the fact that the doctor will be taking over our babymaking. After all, by the time we reached the IVF process, we’d tried and failed for a long time. So the fact that another person is taking it out of our hands is a bit of a relief. However, as the process gets rolling, there are ups and downs. There are times of intense anxiety while we’re waiting for answers and we just want to know how it’s all going to end. And where is the end exactly? How long will it take to get there? There are countless times where we so badly wish we could have a baby “like everybody else.”

Last week, I finally saw a therapist about our failed cycle. Something hasn’t feel quite right to me since we got the news. When I’m sad, I can’t cry. I haven’t cried a tear since the day we found out. When I feel joyful, I can’t laugh. In fact, nothing really strikes me as funny anymore. The highs aren’t high, and the lows aren’t low. For lack of a better way of expressing it, I feel emotionally dead. 

The doctor told me I’m experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). This news was shocking. I’ve always pictured PTSD happening to war heroes and combat veterans. It never occurred to me that a failed IVF cycle could bring this on. 

I learned that anyone who goes through a traumatic life event is at risk for PTSD. At highest risk for PTSD are those with pre-existing anxiety, and lack of a support system. Anxiety has been a struggle for me throughout my entire life, and only one trusted member of my immediate family, and his awesome spouse, actually know we’re going through this. So there you go–it’s the perfect storm for PTSD. 

You’re probably wondering why I don’t just tell my family. Why would I voluntarily put myself in a position of isolation and loneliness? Simply put, it’s easier this way. I realize I never know unless I try, but both Chris and I feel so strongly about not keeping my family in the loop. They know we want kids, and we’re trying for kids, and that’s all they’re ever going to know. We don’t need to add more stress to this already stressful situation by informing them of the particulars. 

So how does it feel? Failed IVF is more painful than most can imagine. These are wounds that I will actively work to heal in therapy. I hope one day, I can look back on this experience and be safely on the other side. I hope our future IVF attempts do not deepen this wound. The hard part is, we’ll never know unless we try. 

Debriefing and Doctor Shopping

It has been a little over two weeks since we received the call telling us our IVF cycle failed. We’ve experienced every emotion from anger to intense sorrow to hopelessness to resignation. I’m now finally able to look at moms and babies without tears welling in my eyes. The struggle has shifted. I find it hard to be happy for fertile people when I hear they are expecting. And trust me, there have been PLENTY of fertile people announcing pregnancies lately. It’s not that I’m not happy for them–I’m just overwhelmed by sadness for us. 

We discussed our failed cycle with our RE. He thinks our cycle was unsuccessful solely because of our sperm. He wants us to try another cycle with more stims (for more eggs and more embryos), and try fertilizing a few with donor sperm to see if my eggs can make it to the blastocyst stage when fertilized by different sperm. If they do, then we know for sure our sperm is to blame. If not, then it’s my eggs. To me, this approach sounds like an elementary school science experiment. 

Our urologist prescribed Clomid for Chris in combination with hardcore antioxidants (that make him sick) in order to boost his sperm motility and overall quality. The urologist advised Chris to take them a couple months before doing a fresh TESE, but our RE wants to drag it out for about 120 days. I don’t want to wait that long to move forward. Our communication with our RE’s office has been slow and frustrating. As you may recall, we’ve also had some rough experiences with them giving us incorrect info in the past. All these experiences finally culminated in me shopping around for another clinic. 

Today we met Dr. W. He seems incredibly confident in his abilities, and had a different take on why our cycle failed. When Dr. W heard that I have over 25 follicles pre-stims, he said that I have PCOS. Our last doctor toyed with that diagnosis, but never made it official. Dr. W also completely disagreed with the medication protocol I was on with the last clinic. He said it’s not a good protocol for someone who has PCOS, as it results in underdeveloped or overdeveloped eggs and possible hyperstimulation. He’d like to change my medications, and use the Lupron trigger instead of hCG before retrieval. Dr. W also thinks my egg quality is probably the main reason we aren’t getting pregnant. He said sperm rarely are the culprit–only about 2% of the time. 

This new clinic is huge with tons of people on staff who are all very friendly. They gave us time and attention, and encouraged us to ask questions. The staff provided an abundance of information, and seemed to want us to understand the process. That’s a huge change from our previous clinic. We have a good feeling about this new place. We don’t know if we’re going to succeed, but at the very least we’d like a positive change of scenery. So it’s official–we’ll keep the same urologist, but we’re changing clinics and REs. We don’t have an official start date yet, but likely July or August.