Maybe Baby

About two months ago my oncologist told us, in a not so gentle fashion, that we probably would not be able to have children. I'm not sure he would have mentioned it at all if I hadn't asked.  I found that particularly strange since every conversation we had ever had included my plans to have children.  His treatment plan is for me to start chemo, followed by radiation and then ten years of tamoxifen.  You can’t get pregnant during any of those treatments.  Further, it is likely that chemotherapy will make me infertile. 

He then suggested we freeze some eggs and implant them when the treatment is done.  That is, assuming I haven’t lost my uterus, because tamoxifen often causes uterine cancer.

Here’s an excerpt from that delightful conversation:

Me: My mother had cancer twice after following a tamoxifen treatment.

Dr. K: Well everyone’s different

Me: Not so far in my gene pool

Dr. K: Well there’s no 100% guarantee that any medication is going to work. 

Me: So I should wait until I’m 47 to try getting pregnant so I can undergo a treatment that has already failed the person who gave me half my DNA?

Blank stare. 

J: While we’re on the topic, how do we know if the chemo worked?

Dr. K: We won’t.

J: Excuse me?

Dr. K: We’ll only know if it didn’t work.  If she doesn’t get cancer again, we know she either wasn’t going to, or the chemo worked.  If she does get cancer, well then we know it didn’t work…Now I would love for you to spend some time today getting to know my nurses who will be providing your chemo treatment in the world’s most depressing room….

Me: We’re going home now.

SCENE

Okay, I may have paraphrased that last part, but seriously, a messy room with a semi-circle of old, tan, recliners where sick people sit and stare at each other?  No thanks.

This was one of the darkest moments we have faced since my initial diagnosis, maybe darker. It was like someone pulled the rug out from under us, knocked the wind out of us and a third thing all at once.  I was devastated. But you don’t get to take a break when all this is happening and it was trash night, so we had to rally.  Like everything else since this all began, we took a deep breath and figured out what we had to do next.

Enter Dr. S, or as he is known in our house, The Baby Fairy.  I don’t like to play favorites, but he’s one of my favorites.  Our first meeting with the fertility specialist and magical sprite did wonders for our spirits.  He made it seem anything was possible, like the Willy Wonka of fertility treatment.  The Baby Fairy even got a little sparkle in his eye when I said I was thinking of skipping tamoxifen until after we had kids.  He’s never had a patient do that before. I almost didn't mind what would be the first of an almost daily vaginal sonogram. Sound invasive? It sure is. 

My blood work came back and there was something that should be a .1 but mine was a .03.  That means while most ladies my age can make between 10-14 eggs to harvest, at best I’m making 1-5.  Even the Baby Fairy sounded discouraged.

Despite the diminished odds for success, we went forward with the treatments. Almost every morning for three weeks we got up and drove to Georgetown for my 9 AM blood donation and vaginal sonogram.  Who needs coffee?

Then finally it came time for the harvesting.  For a few nights, Jason gave me injections in my belly, but the last injection was reserved for my tush.  Just to make sure he got it right, the nurse drew an x on my butt that  morning.  Very dignified. As always, Jason was a real champ.  He took it all very seriously and did exactly as instructed.  When he realized a tiny drop remained in the vile, he shot me in the tush again. No mistakes on his watch.

Next there was a huge mix up with my bloodwork. It could be a whole separate entry, so we’ll skip it for now.

The next morning we arrived bright and early for the harvesting.  Every time I utter that phrase I feel like it’s the title to a horror story.  

I put on the gown and socks and the hair thing that makes me look like Toadette. They started the IV and wheeled me into the harvesting room. The Baby Fairy was there with some other people, really rocking out to an 80s station. 

“Bring me a higher love…scooch down…bring me a higher love, woah…legs in the stirrups…bring me a higher love…” And then I woke up.

Now there’s a side to this story I’m skipping, and some day, years from now, when he gets over the trauma, perhaps Jason will tell the world of his experience.  For now, we’ll all just politely pretend that part didn’t happen.

As I mentioned before, I’m not so great at making eggs, despite the fact I make a killer brunch.  Hey Oh! So we weren’t surprised when we learned that they only harvested four eggs. Even more disappointing, after several daily egg updates, we learned that only one embryo had matured.

This was a strange place emotionally. On the one hand, after all the work and expense, one possible shot at a pregnancy seemed like a major let down.  At the same time, it is amazing to think that somewhere in a freezer, 8 tiny cells have the potential to become a little Jason/Becky some day.   Our maybe baby.

Now don’t get me wrong. I haven’t changed my position on choice.  This is totally different.  I don’t think of those cells as a person.  I do however think of those cells as the astounding possibility that Jason and I could someday bring a life into this world. It is the potential that fills me with awe.   

I know what you’re thinking. Becky, you and your family have such good luck, you’ll probably be fine with that one embryo.  Well we’ve decided to hedge our bets and do another round of fertility treatment before starting my chemotherapy.

I would like to give a quick shout out to two groups that made this possible for us. Despite what you may think of Lance Armstrong,  Live Strong is an amazing organization that has helped so many people. A part of Live Strong called Fertile Hope helps couples like us, facing fertility issues related to cancer.  They worked with our doctor to cut the cost of our treatment in half.

The other organization I want to mention is the Walgreen’s Specialty Pharmacy which provided all of the fertility medications for free.  Without Fertile Hope and Walgreen’s, we would not have been able to afford this process, and definitely not twice.  

So that brings you up to speed on one of the major events since my last post.  We have started the second cycle and hopefully Dr. S will take what we learned from last time to improve our odds for this cycle.  I’ll post on facebook when we prepare for the next harvest so you can all make sacrifices to your various fertility gods.

Next time…my new favorite vacation resort, Sibley Memorial.