FIRST-TIME MOTHER AT 46 by Connie Lukey Anderson - SPRING 2011
Printer-friendly versionFIRST-TIME MOTHER AT 46
by Connie Lukey Anderson
When I was five years old I drew a picture of myself holding a tiny blue bundle. Inscribed on it, in my kindergarten teacher’s precise printing are the words, “When I grow up I want to be the mother of a baby.”
Forty years later, I sit in the waiting room of a fertility clinic in Southwestern Ontario, wondering whether that dream can still come true. “Don’t look at this,” my husband Keith says, as he puts down a brochure produced by the clinic. But several minutes later we are sitting in the office of the medical director, who hands me a copy.
The brochure shows how an average woman’s fertility declines as she ages. By the time she is 45, there is approximately a one percent chance that she can get pregnant naturally. It occurs to me that there are less effective birth control methods.
The physician cautions us that statistically the odds are not in our favour. But I am comforted by his positive attitude, and he adds that “Miracles do happen here.”
Because of my age we cannot delay and the doctor prescribes several tests and three rounds of intra-uterine insemination (IUI) with the fertility drug chlomiphene. My head is spinning as I take in all the information. Everything starts on day three of the menstrual cycle and I’m already on day two. We will begin tomorrow.
Our initial test results were positive with the exception of the critical follicle stimulating hormone (FSH) test. The FSH is produced on the third day of a woman’s cycle. It stimulates follicles to grow and produce an egg by mid cycle. As women approach menopause and their egg reserve begins to dwindle, they produce higher levels of FSH. Their bodies keep trying to make those last follicles grow. High FSH levels are bad news for any woman wanting to get pregnant.
On day ten I have my first ultrasound and there are two follicles. “They have your eyes,” Keith says as we stare at the tiny white dots on the screen.
I continue with blood tests and monitoring while we wait for the surge that tells us ovulation is imminent. “If it’s a boy we’ll name him Serge,” Keith says.
“You have high FSH,” another doctor informs us bluntly on the day of my first IUI. “We usually only let women your age try this three times and some clinics wouldn’t even accept you.” I bite my lip and try to hold back the tears. After a tense month of waiting and hoping I get my period and we start all over again.
On my second round of treatments there are two follicles and they are slightly bigger. This time the clinic coordinator does the procedure. She is warm, funny and down to earth. When it’s over she gives me a high five, clasps my hand and tells me she will pray for me. But after 29 days of anticipation we are disappointed again.
In the third round I produce three large follicles and feel certain that this time it will work. However, on December 23rd my period arrives right on schedule. There would be no Christmas miracles this year.
The clinic was incredibly busy and we weren’t able to meet with the doctor again until mid-January. The wait is agonizing. I hold tight to Keith’s hand when we finally get our meeting. I’d had my three strikes; I’m sure this will be the end.
But the doctor throws me a lifeline. Although my 3-day FSH test was originally high (17), after taking chlomiphene it dropped down to 10. (9 is considered acceptable.) I’d still surged on my own and produced follicles every cycle.
The doctor suggests I do three more rounds of IUI using gonadotropin in addition to clomiphene. I say yes without hesitation.
“By the way, do you have a drug plan?” he asks. We both nod. “And you’ll have to give yourself injections; do you think you can do that?”
Although I would have agreed to anything for one more chance, the truth is that we’d just changed insurance plans and I had no idea if the drugs were covered. When I went to pick up my prescription I held my breath as the clerk slid my drug card through the computer. When it was accepted I let out a sigh of relief. “Just out of curiosity,” I asked her, “How much do these cost?” The total came to over $1,000 per cycle.
I’d also told the doctor that I could give myself injections. In actuality I once fainted and knocked out three teeth at the sight of a needle. How was I going to stick one in my stomach?
But I was determined and Keith volunteered to do it for me if I couldn’t manage. I went back to the clinic on day 5 and the nurse gave me a demonstration. Then it was my turn. She counted to three and I froze. “It really doesn’t hurt,” she promised. I closed my eyes and jabbed. I hardly felt a thing. The new needles in the form of a “pen” are so sharp that you don’t feel them. So much so the nurse told me you have to watch carefully or you could miss and not even know it. I was immensely relieved. We were back on track.
I was happy to get back to the clinic on day 10 for my monitoring routine. The staff was exceptional and I realized I’d missed their encouragement and positive energy. As usual I had blood taken followed by an ultrasound. This time only one small follicle appeared on the screen. The technician seemed concerned and asked what meds I’d taken.
I didn’t know whether they would still do an IUI with one follicle, but the cycle proceeded as usual. There was a storm the night before I was to have the procedure, and when I woke the roads were a sheet of ice. On my way to the clinic that Sunday morning, I tucked Keith’s sperm sample under my sweater so it wouldn’t freeze. I slipped getting out of my car but managed to hang on to my precious cargo.
Luckily the clinic is only five minutes from our home. Because of the storm the office was quiet that morning. A receptionist was busy answering phone calls from out of town patients who couldn’t make it in. She advised them to “stay home and do it the natural way.” No point in wasting a good cycle.
The friendly clinic coordinator was there to do my IUI. She noticed that I had only one follicle and put a note on my chart to increase chlomiphene for the next round. There were still two cycles to go; hopefully the next one would be better.
Day 29 came and my period did not arrive. Then day 30. We could hardly contain our excitement when I went to the clinic for a pregnancy test. Later that afternoon I got the call I’d waited for my whole life. “Are you ready to be a mother?” the nurse asked me.
“These are my favorite visits,” said my doctor when we met with him for the final time. When I told him I’d been afraid he would tell me to quit trying he said, “I never tell a woman when to stop, I only tell her what I think her probability of success is. The decision to keep trying is always up to her.”
On November 11, 2008, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. At 46 I am the second oldest woman to conceive at this clinic and the oldest to conceive using IUI. I often drive by the clinic and it warms my heart when I remember the incredible staff and the excellent work they do. Indeed, miracles do happen there.