Posted by: Kate | February 19, 2009

A Failed Experiment

A week ago – hell, three days ago – I was making plans to see a reproductive endocrinologist, because I still wasn’t pregnant and my regular OB-GYN had run out of tests to run and meds to try.  I was on the maximum dose of Clomid already, and so she made a referral so I could be seen elsewhere.

I was a little disappointed, because I’d really rather be pregnant by now and skip all this doctor stuff, but I was also feeling good about learning about new possibilities and options.  I’ve known for a long time that IVF is not the right answer for me, but I wanted to know what the other choices were.

Tuesday, I found out that our new health insurance, purchased because I carried our primary health insurance through my employer, and thus lost it when I was laid off, does not cover any infertility treatments at all.  I’m frankly shocked that they’ve been paying for the Clomid, and am carefully not asking extra questions about that at the moment, so that they continue to pay for it a bit longer.

This was a big, unpleasant blow to me, but I thought, “Well, then, I guess I just keep seeing the OB-GYN and taking Clomid until it works.”  I figured maybe I would need occasional ultrasounds to make sure the meds weren’t causing ovarian cysts, but otherwise, we’d just continue in this manner until I got pregnant or until I got new health insurance.

Nope.

I learned yesterday that my OB-GYN will only prescribe Clomid for 6 months, at whatever dosage is found to be effective.  It took a few months to ratchet up to the 150mg I currently take, so those first few cycles don’t count.  But now, I’ve been on 150mg  for three cycles, and so I get three more cycles on it, and then we’re done.  No rest period and then return to the meds in six months, no other things to try.

“We’ll just consider the Clomid to be a failed experiment,” said the doctor.

Great, thanks, because, really, the more we can use the word “FAIL” in my life right now, the better.

So, yeah, I’m feeling the pressure of that three-cycle clock ticking, and at the same time dealing with the decreased libido that comes with serious depression.  (And it is bad; I haven’t been this unwell in over 10 years.  I started Zoloft on Monday, it could start working any time now…)

I think it’s probably a bad sign when you realize that it’s not just that you no longer expect to have things go well, but that you can’t even imagine such a scenario.

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Responses

  1. ((hugs))

    You are NOT FAILing by not conceiving. You are doing everything you can humanly do. Blame the Universe, blame God, but you can’t blame yourself.

    I know this sucks to hear when you’re not getting what you want exactly when you want it, but it will happen when it’s meant to happen. All of it. The job, a baby, a B&B.

    You need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Focus on the things you actually have control over. Easier said than done, I know.

  2. Our insurance is good, but they wouldn’t even pay for the Clomid, much less anything more invasive. If it makes you feel any better, our son was conceived on my last dose of Clomid, before we got shipped to the RE.

  3. I don’t like that the doctor said to consider this a fail — no one failed here. That said, I feel for you. I know you’ve gone thru a lot lately and am hoping things let up for you. Just hang tight, knowing you’ve got lots of folks out here pulling and praying for you!

  4. I know how you feel … our prescription plan never paid for my clomid, but I was always under the assumption that our reg. health ins. would pay for IUI and other things up to IVF. I felt the same crushing feeling upon finding out that it wouldn’t.

    Yeah, it sucks. It sucks a lot. Maybe that zoloft will kick in soon. I’ve been thinking about starting some of my own …

  5. Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. But from reading you for quite a while now, I don’t doubt that only good will come from it all somehow. I hope that’s not too obnoxious to say, given how you’re feeling. I know it’s a risk–but I believe it’s true.

  6. Kate, I have nothing to say that will make things feel better for you. Just know that I’m thinking of you and am here to help in whatever way might be useful (I’m trying to figure out what I can do that would be useful so it’s not one more thing for you to be worrying about!!!). Lots of hugs, support and psychopharmacological vibes going your way.

  7. Hugs Kate.

  8. I’m so sorry. I know how hard it is to want that 3rd child. Don’t think failure. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the next 3 months will be the ticket. And sending strong fertility vibes your way.

  9. Kate I know it might seem simplistic, but . . bear with me . . my sister had the same problem after her first miscarriage. She decided that focussing on all the meds, the prods and the indignity she’d launch herself into something new. Now I’m not recommending you buy a $5,000 horse and begin dressage but the distraction worked wonders. She never got past her first Test before falling pregnant. Perhaps you need that kind of distraction? And I wouldn’t write off IVF if you’re prepared for the risk of a multiple birth. Hearts to you from Australia!


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