Our Journey

2002 Uterine Fibroid Surgery #1

2003 1st consult with an RE, you know, just in case

2003 Got Married (at 37 (me) & 34 (DH) years old)

2003/2004 Naturally conceived pregnancies BFPs #1, #2, & #3 and miscarriages #1, #2, #3

2005 Uterine Fibroid Surgery #2

2005 IVF #1, BFN #1

2005 IUIs #1 and #2, just because, BFN #2 & #3

2005 FET from IVF #1, BFN #4

2006 Exploratory surgery to remove scar tissue from fibroid sugery #2

2006 IVF #2 (w PGD), BFP #4

2006 Emergency cerclage for IC @ 16w6d (5 months + 1 week of complete bed rest at home ensues)

2007 Our son is born @ 38w by scheduled c-section

2007 IVF #3 for baby #2, BFN #5

2007 IVF #4, BFP #5, miscarriage #4

2008 IVF #5, BFP #6, miscarriage #5

2008 IVF #6, BFP #7, miscarriage #6

2008 DE IVF #7, BFN #6

2009 DEFET #8, cancelled, embryos don't thaw

2010 Decide to adopt domestically

12.17.10 Profile is live with our agency

November 2011 Consult with RE re: donated embryo cycle

Early January 2012 Cleared to proceed with deFET

January 2012 Freeze our profile

1.20.12 deFET begins
2.12.12 eSET of one compacted morula
2.22.12 BFN

3.23.12 deFET #2 begins
4.14.12 transfer 3 embryos (1-8 cell, 1-5 cell, 1-4 cell)
4.22.12 + HPT
4.24.12 Beta #1 = 48.4
4.26.12 Beta #2 = 125.7
4.30.12 Beta #3 = 777.8
5.11.12 1st U/S - Singleton!
7.12.12 It's a Boy!
12.26.12 C-section: Baby G is born, 9#5oz, 20.5"



The aftermath, Part I

I was situated inside the ambulance. I do not recall why (other than protocol, maybe) but neither my grandma nor great uncle were allowed to accompany me. Nor do I know how they got to the hospital since the truck we’d crashed in was the only vehicle available. Nonetheless, there I was, surrounded by emergency personnel, making the trek to the hospital. I remember being told I was in shock and that because of that, no matter how parched I was or how much I cried for something to drink, I was not allowed to drink anything. At one point, they did allow me to suck on a wet wash cloth. Also, because everyone was unsure of whether I had been unconscious or for how long, they would not allow me to doze, which is something I desperately needed to do. So, there I was, alone, in the back of an ambulance, being rushed to the nearest hospital which should have been about a half hour away.

Only it wasn’t. As they were radioing ahead to that hospital they determined it was not equipped to handle my injuries and a decision was made that we’d continue on to another hospital, with a trauma center, in a major city, ninety minutes away. With my leg set in the crude splint, every bump in the road caused searing pain and it felt like it would take a lifetime to reach that hospital. But, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was five minutes or five hours away; all I could think of was that my brother was dead (something no one aboard the ambulance would confirm) and that my mother would be crushed, devastated beyond belief, upon hearing the news. It made me physically sick to think about it. I was so afraid of the new reality that at various points along the way I tried to go to sleep so as never to wake up again to the horror that had become my life. But no one would let me sleep.

Our arrival at the hospital and what ensued is the part of this journey that is a bit of a blur and time is surely compressed. It was a mixture of people working on me, discussing my case, and hushed voices whispering that my brother had been killed, although no one would confirm that to me directly. X-rays were taken and an orthopedic surgeon was called in. I’m not sure how much time elapsed but eventually he explained to me that I’d broken my femur in two places and that they needed to put a pin in my knee in order to set my leg. As I was being prepped for surgery, I asked him what happened to my brother (even though I knew the answer, I was hoping beyond hope that I was wrong or that somehow those working at the scene had been miraculously able to revive him). With great compassion, the doctor told me that he had been killed. Shortly thereafter I was wheeled into the OR.

The procedure was done under general anesthesia and I remember coming to at some point and seeing an x-ray type screen and the image of a pin half-way through my knee. There was panic when they realized I was awake and an order was given to knock me out. That is the last thing I remember.

When I awoke, there was indeed a metal pin protruding from either side of my bloodied and swollen knee. I was in excruciating pain. I was experiencing the full range of pain from a body that had been in a horrific accident just hours before. I was given injections of morphine by hypodermic needle into my thigh to manage the pain. The shots hurt so much that I would withhold asking for one until I simply couldn’t tolerate the pain any longer. I also recall being on some sort of self monitored morphine drip that had a button I could push if the pain began to climb. I am not sure if they’d already put me in traction of if that was still to come, but that is what happened. A cord was fed through an eye hook on either side of the pin in my knee, threaded through a pulley mounted to the frame of the bed, and weighted down with bags of sand. My leg throbbed near constantly in those early days.

I was eleven years old. My brother had been killed in an accident that we were in together. I was the last person to see him alive. And I would remain in that hospital bed, in a hospital room, in another state far from my home, in traction, for one month as the bones of my femur were realigned by the weight of the sandbags pulling them into place. If only there was morphine or traction for my broken heart.

5 comments to The aftermath, Part I

  • This is so utterly heartbreaking. I, too, wish I could give you a big old hug.

  • Oh sweetie. I know this was so long ago, but I just want to give you a hug. I’m so sorry you had to suffer this.


  • Tireegal

    You write so eloquently about such unbearable pain and suffering and you seem so alone in this scary world that the accident thrust you into. I’m so sorry that you had to go through this. Again thankyou, for telling your story. I’ll be following along (( hugs))

  • Popping over from Stirrup Queens and I have just spent the last half an hour lost in your posts. I am so sorry for the pain you have endured and how it has affected your life. I am also sorry for the loss of your brother. You have a way of writing it that draws you in and makes the reader feel like they are there with you. You are an incredible writer.

  • came over from stirrup queens – what a horrific thing to live through – i am so sorry for all the pain you have endured.

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