Hello HRT my old friend

One of the great things about being pregnant was that I didn’t have to take HRT (hormone replacement therapy) as my placenta magically produced oestrogen which was otherwise lacking in my body as my ovaries stopped making it when I was in my mid thirties – hence my premature ovarian failure.

While I was pregnant I asked my IVF doctor and my obstetrician when I would need to begin HRT after I had my baby. Both said I should wait around six months and then go back on it.

Well given the state of my poor old head, we’ve had to bring that date forward somewhat.

I restarted it about five days ago after my psychiatrist contacted my endocrinologist to confirm it with her. And I’m already feeling better. It’s amazing what a difference HRT makes – without it a girl can feel so anxious, withdrawn and down.

Upping my oestrogen means any remaining breast milk is drying up but breastfeeding my wee babe was already out of the question since I began on the antidepressant Pristiq last week.

So my mood is gradually lifting and I’m slowly feeling a little better. It can only improve I hope.

Anxiety and postnatal depression

Apparently anxiety is a symptom of depression. I’ve been anxious for years now and my doctor says it’s possible I could have benefitted from antidepressants a long time ago.

First I was anxious and upset about having premature ovarian failure which I was diagnosed with about six years back with no follow up support or counselling.

Then I was anxious due to the biological effect of my premature ovarian failure ie: not having any oestrogen actually made me anxious and gave me insomnia. Hormone replacement therapy (HRT) helped alleviate some of this but only after about three years of living on my nerves without it.

Then, my husband and I moved from the UK to a new country  (Australia) without jobs and minimal social connections. We made our way on our own but it was tough going while trying to come to terms with premature ovarian failure and the ensuing infertility. It was our own doing but sometimes I think you bite off more than you can chew!

Then we tried IVF as a doctor believed he could get my ovaries working. When nothing happened it was devastating and very anxiety inducing. Once again that doctor offered no follow up counselling or support.

We began working through our infertility and accepted we would be childless until three of my beautiful friends came forward to offer us their eggs. While this was amazing, it was still a very anxious time trying to work out how and whether to proceed with these kind, kind offers.

Then my darling sister offered and we decided to move forward and try. But that whole process was also very stressful as I wanted to give her room to back out at any time and the thought of that happening was terrifying. Then I felt anxious putting her through the physical ordeal of egg donation, as well as splitting her family while she travelled from NZ to Australia to undergo the treatment.

Getting pregnant the first time as a result of her donation was massively exciting but also very nerve-wracking. When that pregnancy ended in miscarriage we were devastated. But somehow we got back on the horse and tried a second embryo transfer with no luck, before I fell pregnant again on our third attempt with our beautiful daughter.

All through the pregnancy we lived on tenterhooks. Would I miscarry like I did the first time? What if the baby had something wrong with it? When I began bleeding early on it was horrendously anxiety invoking but luckily that stopped and we now have our gorgeous girl.

All the while I was working in a job with a psycho boss who demanded far more than I could deliver and played with my emotions in ways that disgust me when I think back to it.

So anxiety has been my constant companion for a long time and is it any wonder that everything just mounted up and landed me in a big heap now?

The great thing is that I’m finally getting treatment for a depression that may have been lurking for a long time as a result of our trials – and hopefully anxiety will be a toxic shadow I can discard forever.

Breastfeeding after menopause

Some breastfeeding women have litres of milk literally frothing at their nipples with which to feed their babies but their babies aren’t very good at latching on and sucking. Others have nipples red raw and bleeding from nursing their little ones. I have apparently perfect nipples for breastfeeding and have thus far nursed my daughter with no pain, grazing or bleeding.

But my milk supply is seriously limited and it’s most likely down to the fact I have gone through early menopause. Bummer. So to begin with each feed consisted of me breastfeeding my daughter for about an hour and then topping up with about 70 ml formula. The whole process of feeding, topping up and settling her back to sleep would take about 3-4 hours by which time it was time to feed the poor tyke again – arrghhh.

Suffice to say we were both exhausted and crying for most of the day.

Since coming into the hospital, things have improved as I am now expressing all my breastmilk and then feeding it to her in a bottle. This has radically cut down the length of feeding time so the poor babe can get back to sleep much faster to regain her energy for her next feed.  It has also cut down the amount of formula I am topping her up to because we now know how much we are feeding her. She therefore has more then halved the number of explosive pooey nappies she was having because we were overfeeding her – poor wee thing.

But my breastmilk may still not be best for my baby. This is because it does not contain the usual levels of hormones that other mum’s breastmilk has, as my oestrogen level in particular is so depleted no that I no longer have the placenta supplying my body with it (or my ovaries which went to sleep years ago). My paediatrician suggested that if this is making me feel like crap it may well be making my baby feel like crap too.

So I’m currently weaning her off my milk which I’m finding a sad process as it was the one thing I seemed to be able to do well even though I couldn’t seem to supply her with enough milk.

So while we may be able to trick our post menopausal bodies into nourishing and carrying a baby, the boobs are not so easily coerced.

At least I am getting a little more rest and my daughter is feeling a little more comfortable now we are on a new feeding regime in hospital. It is certainly one of the things that has contributed to my postnatal depression.

What a difference a year makes

Waiting for a baby can seem interminable but it only takes a year - sometimes less - for things to change completely

Waiting to conceive a baby can be unbearably long, lonely and painful but things can turn around so quickly.

In just a year, we have undergone donor IVF with my wonderful sister from New Zealand; conceived, miscarried, had a negative transfer, conceived again and are now awaiting the arrival of our first baby in five days’ time.

Conception and pregnancy followed six years of grief, uncertainty and personal growth, all of which began with my diagnosis of premature ovarian failure at 35.

I grieved then for my young womanhood (going into premature menopause made me feel like an unattractive old crone), my periods (truly!), the children we would never have; our first IVF cycle that yielded zilch eggs and for the life we’d had before my diagnosis.

More recently, we grieved for the little baby we lost last year to miscarriage – it felt like our hearts had been ripped out.

But all the grieving and uncertainty helped us to become more thoughtful, empathetic and kind. It made us rethink what being a beautiful, sexy woman or man really means (it doesn’t mean you have to be fertile) and what life would be like childfree (books called Silent Sorority and Sweet Grapes were particularly helpful).

So what a journey it’s been!  It has been truly remarkable for which we are very thankful.

If it can happen for us, it can happen for others too.  I can’t wait to read about other people’s success stories – I know they are out there, or about to begin.

Rubbish at conceiving but great at pregnancy – dispelling my concerns

Having no eggs with which to conceive a child made me doubt my body and ability to carry a baby (I thought that perhaps I’m not meant to have a baby if my eggs are used up?) – but this pregnancy has changed all that.

My pregnancy has been fabulous with no afflictions (yet). My skin has been clear, my back straight and strong, my abdominal muscles elastic and still holding up without the need for support pants, the skin on my belly is stretch-mark-free and I have no varicose veins.

Even being long in the tooth for a first time mother (I’m 42) has not caused me to crumble under the physical strain of pregnancy.

The only complication is that my baby is lying sideways and showing no inclination to move its head down like all good, compliant babies should (!) but as I’m having a c-section, it doesn’t matter.

This makes me feel a little smug when I hear about much younger and more fertile women struggling with pregnancy aches and pains. I know – it sounds like a bad case of schadenfreude but I’m so pleased that FINALLY,  I can do something well in the reproductive area!

But it’s also good news for all those other infertiles out there who may have the same worries about pregnancy, should they conceive. Just because you may not have good eggs, or for whatever other reason may find trouble conceiving – it doesn’t mean you’ll have a troubled pregnancy – isn’t that great news?

Things to do with placentas

Ever eaten pate made from someone else’s placenta? I haven’t, but my sister and brother in law did unwittingly when their friends served it up to them over dinner once. Yuck yuck yuck!!!

Placentas come in handy in other ways too – mostly notably that they house and nurture a baby during pregnancy (no kidding Einstein!). I’ve also heard of people planting trees over them in their gardens etc.

I’ve also recently found out that another fantastic use for placentas is as a temporary replacement for HRT (hormone replacement therapy).

Apparently your placenta begins to produce oestrogen at around 10 weeks’ pregnancy, meaning the ovaries sit back and take a break for a while (until you stop breastfeeding after you’ve had your baby). I guess they stop producing any eggs to stop any new babies being made while you’re pregnant.

The very cool thing for people whose ovaries have stopped working (like me) is that we don’t have to take HRT during pregnancy as we have oestrogen swimming around in our bodies, care of our placentas.

I am delighted! I love that my body can magically do this. I wonder if there will ever be a way to harness our placentas in this way when we aren’t pregnant, so we don’t have to take HRT?

Deflated

The nonchalance, needles, lack of yoga, avoidance of alcohol and shellfish didn’t make a smite of difference as my pregnancy blood test came back negative.

I asked my husband how he felt and he said deflated, which is pretty much how I feel. Just numb and flat. As if one of those acupuncture needles (or perhaps it was my blood test needle this morning) has pricked our little balloon of hope.

And I was beginning to convince myself that my sore back was a symptom. Christ knows why it’s sore if I’m not pregnant. How dare it be sore and tease me into thinking it could be a sign!

So now I have to go off all my medication for a few days. That includes the oestrogen that my ovaries no longer make. This means I’ll end up having a horrible hormonal crash in a few days, which is when my period should also start. Brilliant – definitely something to look forward to.

But after all the nastiness, I’ll be able to go back on my oestrogen to start building up my womb lining again. This is something I seem to be good at – my doctor is always pleased with the thickness of my endometrium. So all going well, I could be up for another transfer in a few weeks – how crazy is that?

If we keep going at this rate (rapid fire transfers but no pregnancies), we’ll be through our embryos in no time. Now there are six left. I don’t know why but I am reminded of that nursery rhyme ‘Ten green bottles hanging on the wall’…..do you know it? Hopefully our story will have a different ending…

Infertility myth: No real loss so no real grief

Having a miscarriage was what it took for us to get the support we needed for our infertility.

Our miscarriage (last month) followed five years of infertility after I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure. I was told I had already gone through menopause when I was 35. A horrible diagnosis – with the added horrible side effect of infertility.

Being infertile is weird as there is massive loss but nothing tangible to grieve over. You can’t tell a workmate you feel dreadful because you are infertile. You don’t labour with your friends or family over feeling empty and broken-hearted as it just gets boring.

On the other hand, having a miscarriage gives you something to cry over. Our yoga teachers knew; our bosses knew, our close friends and family knew. Their sympathy and thoughtfulness bouyed us in our grief and helped mend some wounds.

Infertiles you know may seem to handle everything just fine but they need your support and help in the same way anyone grieving a loss does. Being asked how they are or acknowledging their loss goes a long way towards comforting infertiles in their (long) time of loss.

Links:
For a basic understanding of infertility
What is infertility? Resolve website

Background on National Infertility Awareness Week® (NIAW)
National Infertility Awareness Week (US) April 24-30

For those interested in taking part in the infertility myth challenge
http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/bust-an-infertility-myth-submission-guidelines.html

I am woman; hear me borg

They say the eldest siblings get the best genes due to the youth of the parents. It’s most likely rubbish and definitely not true in my case.

I am the eldest of five but given the modifications I have had, you would not think I had the best genes.

Firstly, I was born with such a big ‘outtie’ belly button that I had to have surgery at two. Goodness knows how big it was but it must have been substantial to warrant an op. Plus I share the same deafness in one ear as my aunt.

I have also had: braces on my teeth (they weren’t just a little wonky; I had fangs and an overbite so big it could have offered shelter in a rainstorm; roaccutane for acne; glasses then lenses then laser surgery for short-sightedness; bilateral bunion surgery; and chronic asthma which is completely controlled with meds so no worries there.  Also my ovaries decided to go to sleep earlier than expected in my mid thirties.

Now I am trying to conceive a baby in a most unconventional way; by IVF with eggs donated me by my sister who is travelling from New Zealand to Australia tomorrow.

She is younger than me and by comparison is the picture of genetic perfection: She is the only one with straight teeth in the family; has perfect eyesight; beautiful skin with a smattering of freckles which has made her a boy magnet since age 15; no asthma or allergies; great feet and apparently an egg reserve which puts her in the 90th centile for her age group (34).

How great is that? I feel so lucky to be getting the chance to procreate with such fabulous genes.

It makes me feel quite borg-like.

Miscarriage of Justice

I never thought I’d begrudge someone their grief – especially after my last post. But how I’ve changed my tune. Something has happened to make me feel unexpectedly angry, irritated and resentful.

One of my best friends has for the past five months been trying to get pregnant. She conceived for the first time immediately but then sadly lost the baby at eight weeks. She then conceived immediately again but then tragically lost this second pregnancy at 12 weeks.  I was devastated for her and have been helping her through her grief as friends do.

She’s had lots of support from others too – but surprisingly, this is what I am finding irritating. She’s told many people about her loss, which usually I would say is great as I think being open and honest can be very healing. But instead I find myself angry at the support she’s been getting. Probably because I can’t get the same support. For example she can say she has miscarried twice over the past five months. Many people identify with that as they may have experienced the same sad loss. They then share stories and bond.

Meanwhile, what can my husband and I say?  That we can never have our own biological baby and have been dealing with that loss now for almost five years. That I went through early menopause in my 30s and have been mourning the loss of my youth and womanhood. These things just don’t have the same ring, plus how do you bring it up in conversation? Well, you just don’t, as you don’t want to see people squirming in discomfort or at a loss for words for what to say.

Then to rub salt in the wound, my friend said that she didn’t know what would be worse – what she’s been through or what I’ve been through.  That really grated but also confused me. I feel I should be able to claim the monopoly on grief for what I’ve been through as it’s been for longer, is double-edged (infertility and early menopause) but then again, how can I say that? I’ve never miscarried so how would I know what is worse? Both our losses are intense.

My friend is now booked to see an IVF doctor. This makes me steaming mad as I feel she is hopping on the infertility bandwagon when she has not earned a place on it yet and when there is every chance in the world she’ll be able to have her own child if she falls pregnant again.

Being infertile is not something I’d wish on my best friend, but her actions are making me feel she is belittling the enormity of it. To say you are infertile means you cannot have your own child. This unwelcome title should never be claimed by someone who has just started dabbling in the ‘trying-to-have-a-baby’ realm as it is so insulting to those who reluctantly have to wear these stripes.

PS: my apologies for my vitriole and also to my friend, who I know is just trying to work her way through her own grief in the best way she can. I obviously have some issues still to work through myself. But hopefully this will resonate with someone else out there when they read it.