Is It Worth It?

Tonight, after spending way too long doing simple addition, subtraction, and long division for the setup of a new monthly budget, I'm struck by this question: is IVF worth it? I know what you're thinking, "didn't we just go through this? didn't I just decide that we are moving ahead with IVF?". Yes, and yes to both of those. And honestly, this has less to do with the dollar signs (though I did swallow frequently to keep the vomit down) and more to do with my broken heart.

One thing about this "community" that I've become a part of via the internet and this little ol' blog is a real, genuine level of care and concern for the people who find themselves stuck in the same boat as us.  My heart literally breaks when one of the girls that I've come to know and love comes to another bump in the road, experiences another failure, loses another child, etc. I can't count the number of times I've read a post from a fellow infertile to find real tears streaming down my face. It sucks to go through this. It is literally the worst thing that I've ever had to deal with, but it's incredibly difficult to watch others that I love go through it as well. Some days, I'm so, so thankful for the company, thankful for the friendship, thankful for the support, but most days, I'm begging the Lord to let my friend off this roller coaster. I've never met more deserving women of the name "mom" than I have through my blog.

I've said this before, but I'll say it again. When I first heard the diagnosis of unexplained infertility, I never, ever dreamed we would need IVF. We just weren't that broken. Sure, I talked about the what if's… I wanted to make sure my husband knew that I was ready to go the distance if the need arose, but I didn't believe it would. Not for us. However, I, like so many people, believed that if the need did arise, it would work, because IVF always works. The thought that IVF might fail was inconceivable. And then I did my research… 40%… 40% chance of success for any one IVF transfer. Which means that there is a 60% chance that IVF will fail (at best). 

We get crazy excited about 40% odds because our odds have been so incredibly crappy before, but really, IVF only gives most couples twice the odds of a normal young couple (for one month)… for the price of a car. I remember hearing that within three cycles (IVF or FET) 80% of couples will succeed. Those are better odds. Sure, three cycles could cost upwards of $30,000, but 80% is pretty decent odds. So I settled back in my belief that IVF works for almost everyone. And those that it doesn't, surely it's women in their late forties, or men who had vasectomies, or some other crazy story… it's not regular, beautiful, healthy, vibrant young couples. But over the past couple of years, I've learned that all too often it is the beautiful, the young, the vibrant, the healthy couples who fail over and over again.

I remember telling my doctor my fears of failing at IVF. I was trying my darnedest to convince him to do further testing like karyotyping and natural killer cells… pull out the big guns now. He didn't bite. He asked where I was getting my information. I told him my friends. "You know that many people who need IVF?" he questioned. I explained that I blogged and by opening my little corner of the world up and telling my story I had come across countless women with stories of IVF failing. He shrugged off my concern. His words, not mine: "women on message boards are the most severe cases". I didn't take the time to explain the difference between a blog and a message board, nor to explain that his rationale meant that I must be a severe case. He's wrong, but I do get where he's coming from. His thought is that the women who turn to "message boards" have been at it longer… therefore, it's safe to assume that more of them will have failed.

Regardless of whether my friends suffer more losses and failures because they are the "severe" cases or not, my friends are hurting. It sucks. Today, one of my favorite ladies, Aubrey, got some really awful news. She just finished her fresh IVF retrieval from CCRM, arguably the best IVF clinic in the country, only to hear that only two of her eggs fertilized. I literally do not know what I would do if I received that phone call. But Aubrey is so strong (she's from Boston after all)… within moments of hearing the news, she made the decision to go again. Aubrey has been down this road before. She's been kicked when she's been down more times than anyone deserves. CCRM isn't her first choice, it's her "last" choice, it's her last hope of conceiving and carrying a child of her and her husband's making. She's thirty years old… thirty, not forty-five. This was her fifth egg retrieval… not her first rodeo. She has not been one of the 80%, and my heart breaks for her. Tears literally streamed down my face as I read her blog today.

The saddest part is that Aubrey is one of many. She is not alone in her feelings of failure… this is something nearly every woman dealing with infertility faces, but I think it's different after an IVF failure. IVF is supposed to work. Another friend is gearing up for her sixth transfer after she completes some additional tests. How can this be? She is a young, beautiful, smart dentist… this shouldn't be this hard. She has endured so much in this journey already, but she's not giving up. And then there's my friend, Suzanne; her story is particularly touching. Suzanne is also headed to CCRM in the coming months for a donor egg cycle. She recently had a crushing blow when her long awaited IVF cycle at her "local" clinic yielded only two eggs, neither of which survived long enough to be transferred.  Talk about a tough blow. Suzanne is so loving, tender-hearted, and caring, yet she is also tenacious… she deserves her miracle.

And there are so many others. Literally too many to list. My blog roll is FULL of stories that regularly bring me to tears. I'm not surprised any longer when IVF fails one of my friends, but I am still broken-hearted. My frustration and anger on their account is white hot some days. They have sacrificed so much to be mothers… and they are asking for one. None of them believe they will go on to have a large family… they are giving everything they've got to bring home a miracle. And in the midst of my fury, my frustration, my sadness, my mourning, I question "why do I think we will be any different?". And obviously, on some level, I do believe that. For whatever reason, I am clinging to the belief that IVF will work for us, or I wouldn't go down this road. But why do I think our situation will turn out any differently? Hear me when I say this, I desperately want a child, but I do not deserve one any more than Aubrey, or Nikki, or Suzanne, or Kimberly, or Emily. IVF is not an easy choice. It's a long, stressful, expensive journey that brings a chance of a bring home baby. The question "is it worth it?" has to be answered (sometimes again and again) long before the outcome is known.