It happened again. The same timing and nearly the same exact situation. It felt surreal.
Here is a refresher. We had a failed embryo transfer with our fourth surrogate in September, and simultaneously Bailey was rushed to the hospital with RSV. My previous blog post details that sad and terrifying experience. We planned to move forward and try a second time with this surrogate within the next few months.
Ryan and I made a trip to CT in mid-November for another transfer. We met our surrogate and her husband at our usual lunch spot before heading to the clinic. This was our first time meeting her husband in person because he wasn’t able to come to the first transfer. This was now our 5th time making this CT trip to try and get a surrogate pregnant. Although the company hasn’t been the same each time, my nerves and lunch choices have been. There weren’t any miraculous or inspiring signs this time around. Everything went perfectly smoothly and it felt right. As it goes, we’d get the pregnancy results in 9 days. Anyone who undergoes IVF knows how anxiety provoking this 9 day wait is. I used to dread it. Now, I find it to be the most peaceful part of the process. I’ve learned that I have absolutely no control, and I try to fulfil the unknown time with hope rather than worry.
I woke up the morning we’d be getting the call and told Ryan I had a great feeling. Bailey was healthy which was a good sign. Also, third time was a charm. First being our miscarriage with the previous surrogate and second being the transfer that didn’t work. In my life, third time has been the charm. The first thing that comes to mind was passing my lifeguard test on the third try as a teenager. It’s really because I was, and still am a terrible swimmer. The next was passing my driver’s test on the third try. I think my dad may have threatened the instructor. The notes were that I couldn’t parallel park, was speeding and abruptly braking. Anyway, I was confident that this third try was going to be the one that would bring our next, highly anticipated and desired baby into our lives.
I was at work and saw the clinic’s number come up on my phone. I ran into an empty office to answer, as I usually do. I never know if this is going to be one of the most exciting, or disappointing calls of my life. The nurse was sweet, but right to the point. “I’m so sorry. Her pregnancy test bloodwork came back negative.” The familiar sucker punch feeling returned. I went outside and did my usual pacing up and down Lexington Avenue, trying to gather myself. I was so sad and disappointed, but believed I could get through the next few hours of work, as long as I could somehow avoid making eye contact with anyone. Less than an hour later, I received a text from my nanny and it was a picture of a hot pink, sweaty, and barely awake Bailey. I called her right away. “When did she get this sick? What happened?” My nanny said she was fine, but then woke up from her nap and started coughing like crazy and spiked a super high fever. I told her to get to the pediatrician immediately, and I would meet them there. This is exactly what happened two months earlier, after I received an upsetting call from our clinic.
I ran out of work, and sat on the bus sweating and internally panicking in Lincoln Tunnel traffic. I got to the doctor’s office and our pediatrician had the same worried, yet empathetic look that I saw two months earlier. She told me that Bailey’s fever was above 104, even after both Tylenol and Advil. She had tested positive for RSV again, and we needed to bring her for chest X-rays immediately. It sounded like she had pneumonia too. Ryan met me at the pediatrician’s office and we literally ran her to the radiologist 10 blocks away.
Trying to lay on a toddler to strap them down for X rays of their torso feels like wrestling a wild bull, except it’s your very sick baby. I was also wrestling with the very upsetting news I had received a couple hours earlier. I had to put those emotions aside and focus on my baby girl, just as I had done when I watched them insert her IV back in September.
The receptionist at the radiologist’s office was very friendly and sweet. She was doting over Bay and asked if we had more children. She asked why we only have two, given how adorable they were, and suggested we should have as many as we could. I wasn’t in the mood or frame of mind to tell her we actually had three, but one died. And that I just received a call that no matter how hard we’ve tried or how much we’ve put into it, having another baby may not be in the cards for us. We did not have the liberty of controlling this aspect of our lives, and another egg retrieval could kill me. It’s too complicated of a scenario to explain, and she was too kind for me to blow up her afternoon.
Bailey’s lungs turned out to be clear, and I brought her back to the pediatrician the next morning for a follow up. I told our doctor about another failed attempt with our surrogate, and she said she felt like she was having Déjà vu in her office. I told her that she wasn’t, this same story had actually happened. Bailey was seemingly perfectly fine, until she wasn’t. Our doctor and I discussed the craziness of it, but also the likeliness that Bailey senses something. Regardless of your beliefs, there is no explaining how this happened twice. Our pediatrician shared with me that she recently had a mom bring her daughter in for her 18 month checkup. The mom pulled her aside and told her that she had just suffered a miscarriage. The baby, out of nowhere, began hysterically crying and started kissing and hugging her mom’s belly. The woman hadn’t told anyone she was pregnant. Babies have a connection to a higher power, and I’ve witnessed the miracle of it with my own children.
Both times that Bailey was very sick in September and November, she had an episode in which she seemed to stop breathing. Both times were in her high chair during breakfast, and she completely froze. We instinctively ripped her out of her chair, held her tight and slapped her back until she came to. Then I’d rush her to the doctor to check her oxygen and her blood sugar levels, which were normal. The second time, our pediatrician told me what she didn’t want to say, and knew I didn’t want to hear. We should see a pediatric neurologist to make sure they weren’t seizures. Just hearing ‘pediatric neurologist’ made me feel sick. Ryan and I were way too familiar with them after Kiera’s diagnosis. I couldn’t believe that out of all the specialists one could need, ours was with the type of doctor that we have the utmost respect for, but was also such a traumatic part of our lives. I put on my brave face and did what we do for our children. I made the appointment.
Bailey and I made a trip to the pediatric neurology department at Hackensack hospital for a consultation. I told her it was our little adventure, but she didn’t know how scared this adventure made me. The brain sculpture on the doctor’s desk made me shake inside. When the neurologist asked if we’ve had any neurological disorders in our extended family, or if Bailey had any siblings with neurological issues, I started to cry. I briefly shared our story of Kiera’s brain aneurysm and the doctor’s jaw nearly dropped, but she was beautifully empathetic. I knew that Kiera’s diagnosis was so incredibly rare and that we were there for a different reason, but it was all too painfully familiar. The doctor scheduled an EEG test to be performed two weeks later, to monitor Bailey’s brain activity and see if seizures had been, or still were present.
The week following the consultation was “Mid February” which for the past 7 years has been the hardest time of year for me. On February 11th, the day I was induced with Kiera, I always wake up feeling sad. Throughout this day, and the three days following, my back and head always hurt. My days go on as usual, but I physically feel terrible. My body has cellular memory and remembers the ups and downs of three intense days of labor. It’s always cold this time of year, and sometimes snowing, which it was this year. It all reminds me of living in Boston for a few weeks, and all the excitement and fear of awaiting the arrival of our first baby. My senses feel heightened during this week, and as distracted as I try to keep myself, so many things bring me back.
Then there is Kiera’s birthday, also known as Valentine’s Day. All of the decorations and celebrations of love used to completely depress me. Now I make it extra special for Rory and Bay. One day, when they fully understand, they’ll know why I try so hard on Valentine’s Day. It is to honor their big sister. The following 48 hours, seven years ago, were filled with chaos, confusion, love and support. There were decisions that no young parents, or any parents, should need to make. But this year, the four of us went to a cabin in the Poconos and made beautiful memories in the snow. These 48 hours were exactly the way we wanted them.
I brought Bailey back to the pediatric neurology department for another adventure. This one entailed gluing 50 sensors to her beautiful head, wrapping it in gauze, and flashing strobe lights in her face. She was so brave. She focused on Minnie Mouse on the TV, had her elephant paci dangling from her little mouth, and tightly squeezed my hand for the whole hour. I tried as hard as I could not to envision Kiera with those same sensors, but it was impossible. Instead, I embraced it and just prayed to Kiera that her little sister would be fine. When the test was over, Bailey was most upset about what a sticky mess they made of her thick blonde hair.
Two days later, the doctor called. “Everything looks perfectly fine. There is no explaining what those two episodes were, possibly breath holding spells because she was very sick and upset. Call me if you ever have any other concerns.” I could now stop holding my own breath, and immediately had the answer. This was another test for me. I had to face the PTSD from what we experienced with Kiera, and trust that everything would be ok without my mind going to the worst. We have had a far from easy ride to bring our two little miracles into our lives. Now that they’re here, we’re not exempt from the scares and trials that every parent experiences while raising children.
Throughout all of this, we were trying to figure out next steps on our surrogacy journey. We decided to thaw, biopsy and re-freeze our remaining embryos to test for my bleeding disorder. Science, when used for good, is incredible. That was not a simple or short process, but fortunately the results give us another try with our surrogate. She also underwent multiple tests, and all of her results came back perfect. I’m not one to give up in life, and even though it isn’t easy, this is no different. I’ll give up on trying for this next baby when God stops giving us chances. In my heart I don’t believe that’ll be the case, but that's just me relying on my faith. I know there will be more speeding and abrupt braking in this life, but I’m going to enjoy and appreciate the ride. Unlike my road test, I only have one shot at this one.
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