It's hard to believe where we were at this time last year. We'd already had our consult with my RE where she told us she knew she could get us pregnant again, but as far as carrying to term she didn't know... she said eventually, in theory, I should be able to but that she couldn't guarantee it. That was such a hard conversation. I left feeling so hopeless. The only reason we tried one more time was because she offered to donate us the medication we would need... or as I like to say, she bribed us to give it one last try.
And it worked.
At this time last year, we were growing a ton of follicles for our IUI. By April 2nd, we had around 6 mature and several measurable (but not quite mature). Any other person, and they probably would have canceled. But not me, with my womb of doom. Thank goodness they let us go ahead, because we caught one. One beautiful perfect egg, which turned into our darling son.
This time last year was so difficult. I mean, it's easy enough to try not to think about it, but it's impossible to forget it. How could I forget getting a positive test the week of our four year anniversary of trying? How could I forget that I was already spotting, bleeding, and terrified. My response of "Oh, shit," and feeling so defeated as if we'd already lost. My progesterone was so low, and I was stuck in beta hell for so long. My cramps were painful, the bleeding too heavy, that it felt just like the others. The ones I'd lost. All the symptoms of a miscarriage, but not a miscarriage.
That heartbeat just a couple weeks later was so beautiful. It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen, and that little being that I saw start, still amazes me each day.
I remember the horror a few weeks later, after just seeing arm buds and the heart still beating, what happened next. That exact moment is forever burned into my mind. I remember eating enchiladas, watching Doctor Who, and feeling pressure. I remember standing up, and finding myself covered in blood. I remember shaking. Screaming. Crying. Rushing to the hospital... and finding out that he was still alive. They weren't very positive that things would stay that way, but that night, despite the horrifying amount of blood loss and clots passed, he was still with us.
I don't take my son for granted for one moment. I try not to think about the horror of what I went through. It's easy enough to ignore most of the time, now that it's over. But I can never forget what I went through, the extreme terror that I would lose him just like I lost the other ones. There were beautiful moments and there was a living nightmare battling it out. I never expected things to be so bad, or to end so wonderfully. This time last year, I just expected to get another negative and to spend the next year trying to figure out how I could move on with my life.
My son's story is an epic to me. It was filled with great highs, and terrible lows. When I look at him, I think about how we beat it. How together, we won the battle against my body. And at this time last year, I never even imagined any of this could be possible. I never imagined I could be sitting with him today, listening to him coo. I never imagined I could actually be changing diapers, cuddling him while he sleeps on my chest, or giving him baths. I just knew that one way or another, we would be moving on.
It's painful to remember what I went through last year, but like I said, it wasn't all bad. There really were some wonderful moments. Like every time I heard his heart beating, or when I felt him move, his first breath as he wailed outside my womb. My little survivor.
It's so strange to think this all started just a year ago. It feels like a lifetime.