It's not me. It’s you.

It was 2013, the year after we lost John and Cynthia. I had received the green light to try to get pregnant again that January, so we dove head first into IVF the minute my cycle allowed.  Our first attempt was going to be a FET (frozen embryo transfer) using one of our remaining embryos from the same batch that created our twin angels.  At this point in our journey, getting pregnant had even more pressures attached to it. At its core, it was still about starting our family as soon as possible, but it was also quickly becoming a lifeline I desperately needed to rescue myself from my PTSD and grief.  And all of this knowing that even if I was able to get pregnant again, there would be all new pressures lurking around the corner that could overwhelm us as I tried to stay pregnant.

Carrying this with me, I remember holding onto any glimmer of hope as I started my injections and pills. I would tell myself things like, “you got pregnant once, so your chances are strong,” or “you’ve been through enough hell already, good karma is coming your way.” But, unfortunately, I was wrong. And once again we found ourselves on the IVF roller coaster as each month rolled into the next and it became evident that my body was struggling.

That year I attempted seven variations of IVF (from FET’s to retrievals/transfers) and one surgery (more another time on that). My husband had urged me several times to slow down and consider finding a new doctor, but I pushed back. I was like an addict that had to get pregnant. Even considering hitting the pregnancy pause button to search for and consult with a new doctor made me sink back into my now all too familiar pattern of grief and panic. That is, until after the thousands of dollars spent, the cattle call fertility center visits, and the repeated agonies of all those two-week-waits, for all the wrong reasons my doctor actually did something that helped us break through our cycle of failures. After respectfully inquiring why, after a cycle that provided us with 15 fertilized eggs, only two had survived through testing, our doctor saw fit to coldly tell me “well, maybe you’re just getting old?” I slumped when she said this, especially given the shared journey I believed she and I had been through together while under her care.  In hindsight, it was precisely the push my husband and I needed to pause, reflect, gather what strength we had left in us and formally break up with her.

Now I realize there was actually a huge shift in our journey with this decision that began to move us towards positivity and hope again. We were able to get in with a new, prominent doctor in Colorado before the end of the year (Dr. Schoolcraft at CCRM). While we were adding travel expenses to our building IVF debt, we told ourselves we would rather spend more for one successful IVF as opposed to bleeding out money for seven unsuccessful like we had just done. Fortunately, our decision was validated the minute we walked through the doors for the clinic orientation and we were treated like human beings. In fact, it was in our meeting with Dr. Schoolcraft that day where he ironically said he wouldn’t have a job if it wasn’t for women my age trying to start their families. It was so refreshing, I could write an entire post about all of the positive differences we experienced. The most important one to note for now, though, is that even though we still had a long road with some setbacks ahead of us … we had 100% success (and stronger IVF results) with every single procedure we attempted with Dr. Schoolcraft.

Have you struggled with whether or not to break up with a doctor before? How did you make the decision? I would love to hear your stories.