IVF pioneer Robert Edwards dead at 87 [copied from USA Today]

The Nobel prizewinner’s in vitro fertilization research led to the first test tube baby.

(Photo: Alastair Grant, AP)

Story Highlights

• Edwards developed in vitro fertilization
• First test tube baby was born in 1978
• Technique led to births of more than 4 million babies

LONDON — Robert Edwards, a Nobel prizewinner from Britain whose pioneering in vitro fertilization research led to the first test tube baby and has since brought millions of people into the world, died Wednesday at age 87.

The University of Cambridge, where he was a professor, said Edwards passed away peacefully in his sleep at his home just outside Cambridge.

Together with Dr. Patrick Steptoe, Edwards developed in vitro fertilization, or IVF, which resulted in the birth in 1978 of the world’s first test tube baby, Louise Brown. At the time, the two were accused of playing God and interfering with nature.

Since then, more than 4 million babies have been born using the technique, which creates embryos in the laboratory before transferring them into a woman.

“(Edwards) was an extraordinary scientist,” said Dr. Peter Braude, emeritus professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Kings College London, who was at Cambridge when Edwards and Steptoe were developing IVF.

“There was such hysteria around the kind of work he was doing,” Braude said, noting that Edwards stopped his research for two years after he published details on how he had created embryos in the laboratory. “He wanted to work out what the right thing to do was, whether he should continue or whether he was out on a limb,” Braude said.

Braude said that Edwards collected donor eggs from Oldham, where Steptoe worked. Edwards then put them into test tubes which he strapped to his legs to keep them warm before catching the train to Cambridge, where he would attempt to fertilize them in the laboratory.

After Brown was born, Braude recalled a celebration at Cambridge, where scientists toasted Edwards and Steptoe’s achievement by drinking champagne out of plastic cups.

Braude said public opinion has evolved considerably since then.

“I think people now understand that (Edwards) only had the best motivation,” he said. “There are few biologists that have done something so practical and made a huge difference for the entire world.”

In 2010, Edwards was awarded the Nobel prize in medicine for the development of IVF. Steptoe had already passed away; the Nobel prizes are not awarded posthumously. The Roman Catholic Church denounced the award, arguing that human life should only begin through intercourse and not artificially. The Vatican said Edwards “bore a moral responsibility for all subsequent developments in assisted reproduction technology and for all abuses made possible by IVF.”

In 2011, Edwards was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II “for services to human reproductive biology.”

Other scientists called Edwards a visionary who forever changed the lives of people helped by IVF and the medical community.

“(Edwards’) inspirational work in the early 60s led to a breakthrough that has enhanced the lives of millions of people worldwide,” said Mike Macnamee, chief executive of the IVF clinic that Edwards and Steptoe co-founded, in a statement. “It was a privilege to work with him and his passing is a great loss to us all.”

Copyright 2012 The Associated Press and copied from USA Today.

THANK YOU to Dr. Edwards.  Though IVF has not worked for us yet, I know his work has helped many miracles happen and allowed many dreams to come true.  Hopefully one day his work will introduce me to my second little miracle.

How as Dr. Edwards’ work helped you?

Rotten eggs, sharp objects and renewed hope

I apologize for being MIA for a bit.  When we last met, I was awaiting the results of my first IVF cycle.   A bit has happened since then.

First, I went in for my 4-day scan and learned that I was not responding to the meds.  Cyrus the Cyst was gulping all the meds and my follicles were unimpressive.  They turned my IVF into an IUI, and before the end of my TWW, the evil witch cackled her way into my bathroom.

I thought I had prepared myself emotionally and mentally for the likely unsuccessful first attempt.

I was wrong.  It hit me pretty hard.  I was devastated.

Then, I spoke with my doctor on Monday to find out next steps, assuming I’d get a ray of sunshine and a little “hang in there” pep rally.  Notsomuch.

Turns out, after the increased stim dosage my estrogen should have ‘risen exponentially’.  Instead, it actually DROPPED.  I asked what causes this.  He flat out said, “Bad eggs.”

That hurt.  Bad.  I was broken.  My body is broken.  My heart – broken.   He tried to polish the rough edges by saying that my reserve number is still normal “for my age”, and I do still have some good eggs.  It’s just that the proportion of bad eggs to good is high.

Next steps:  Try a much more aggressive protocol.  THE most aggressive protocol.

We were toying with the idea of taking November off from IVF because all of the shots would be scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving.  With family in town, and a 12lb gobbler in my fridge, the idea of hiding 14 boxes of shots behind Tom the Turkey was less than appealing.  Plus, the stress of entertaining, etc., was getting to me and I just felt like we might need a break.  Then, like Captain Hook, I heard that incessant ticking of the clock chasing behind me like a crocodile.

The day before we were supposed to go in to learn the “most aggressive protocol”, we got a call from the financial manager at the fertility clinic.   They’re receiving some conflicting information from our insurance company.  After being assured by the insurance company directly that our treatments were 100% covered, the payments are coming in at 50%.  Until they could get it ironed out (which they “hope” to do this week), they are required to collect 50% at the time of consultation “just in case” the insurance doesn’t come around.   Translation – they required $4,000 at our appointment the next day “just in case”.

For those who don’t know me personally – I do NOT have a money tree in my backyard.

We need more than 10 hours notice to come up with that kind of money (especially after expecting that our treatments were covered).  We decided this was a sign that we should, in fact, take November off from IVF.  Give the doctor’s office a chance to reconcile with the insurance company, get our finances in order “just in case” and just relax a little.

So, I took a cue from Sunnyside and scheduled some acupuncture last week.  First time I’ve ever gone, and I freaking loved it.  My acupuncturist specializes in fertility issues and did more than turn me into Pinhead.  She talked to me about my diet -not in a “you should drop a few pounds” kind of way (lucky for her).  Rather, she enlightened me regarding how certain foods contribute to ovulatory issues, some chemicals raise your estrogen too much, some supplements reduce inflammation in your uterus, etc.  I was totally intrigued.   So,  my personal treatment plan for the next month is as follows (please understand this is a VERY abbreviated summary of the detailed information I received)

• eliminate ALL diet coke (I may die)
• eliminate ALL cheese (inflammatory food)
• eliminate as much dairy as possible (inflammatory, and estrogen-adding)
• begin getting 90% of my protein from organic vegetables; any meat protein should be organic (non-organic increases estrogen)
• eliminate at least some of my white carbs (too many white carbs (like the diet coke, too) cause your body to not use insulin correctly, which can affect egg development and ovulation)
• switch to a food-based prenatal vitamin
• add DHEA 3 x day (25mg each)
• add Co-q10 1 x day
• add acedolphilus pearls 1 x day
• drink herbal tea and water
• twice a week acupuncture for the next 4 weeks
• twice a week yoga

I have a lot of information on WHY all of these suggestions were made (based in research at Harvard, as well as doctor/patient testimonies).  I’m happy to scan and email to anyone who is interested.  It’s very intriguing, and makes a lot of sense.

Also, she recommended a book called, “Making Babies – a proven 3-month program for maximum fertility“.  It shows the correlation between natural treatment (like Chinese medicine, herbs/supplements, acupuncture, etc) and improved fertility.    I can’t vouch for it yet, but I’m currently reading it.  I promise to do a book review of it when I’m done, as well as an update on how this new diet/program is affecting me personally.  If I find that the book is valuable, expect to see it in a giveaway soon.

So, that’s where I’ve been.  And where I’m going.  It feels good to have something different to focus on, so that we don’t feel like we’re pushing pause completely.  And, it feels good that what I’m doing now is addressing the insurmountable stress that has been building over the past year, and more specifically, the past 3 months.

I don’t know where this path will lead.  If nothing else, maybe I’ll be healthier.

Have any of you had success with acupuncture or such dietary focus?  I’m interested in all of your stories – successful or not.

Normal is as normal does…

A wise man once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Actually, it was his wise MAMA who said that.  I digress.
It’s so true, though.  Lately, I have been feeling like someone went into my Whitman’s Sampler and switched out all the milk chocolate caramel ones with the nasty foamy strawberry or cherry ones.

I felt alone, and broken.  I asked myself, and God, “Why me?”

I felt like a circus freak.  The one with the broken ovaries and bad eggs.  I felt like going to see an RE would be like walking down a dark and empty corridor, greeted by a Magda receptionist under a swinging light bulb.

But this week I realized something.

I’m not alone.  And I’m not a freak. 

I sat in my RE office, awaiting my IUI on a rainy, cold, pre-hurricane Monday morning and people-watched.  As I did, I began to smile.  Everyone in that waiting room looked normal.  Every stereotype, every “reason” in my head that previously explained my infertility — I’m too old, I’m out of shape, I’m not thin enough, my husband’s too old – were all debunked.

The people in front of me before I checked in were about my age.  Both heavier than me and my husband.

The lady behind me was taller, thinner, healthier – and older.

The lady that emerged from the back to check out – much older than me.

The girl that came in as I was leaving – in her mid-20s, at best.

The couple on the couch – obviously there for their first consult – looked like a J.Crew ad.

These people were all beautifully normal.  And infertile.

We are not alone.  And we are not freaks.

Maybe that cherry chocolate isn’t so bad after all.

My Thanksgiving turkey baster is safe. For now.

I adore Jason Bateman and Jennifer Aniston.  And I found their movie “The Switch” hilarious.  In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the Reader’s Digest version:

Jennifer and Jason are BFF.  We all know they’re going to end up together, from Scene 1, but that doesn’t take away from the movie’s humor.  For most of the movie, Jen is single and just wants to be a mama before her eggs rot.  She gets a sperm donor, and her hilarious gal pal Juliette Lewis throws her an insemination party.  Donor guy’s jizz is warming on a candle warmer in the bathroom, awaiting Jen’s basting.  Jason gets drunk and spills the jizz in the bathroom sink, and doesn’t want anyone to know.  So he gets his jollies while looking at a picture of Diane Sawyer, and replaces the jizz.  Shhhh!  Of course, baby comes out looking nothing like Donor Dad, and the hilarity ensues.

Jason was unsettled at the thought of her using a turkey baster to get the job done.  It is pretty absurd.  Although, now I can attest that this was not much better:

In my last update, I shared that our IVF path may end up detoured.  Sure enough, my Saturday ultrasound revealed only 3 tiny follicles on the left, and the one decent-sized one on the right, next to Cyrus.  The doc said this was not enough to warrant the pain and cost of IVF, but my estrogen level was high enough not to cancel the cycle altogether.  He switched me to IUI.  Chances are still low – about 15% chance of getting preggers, he said.  But it’s better than canceling the cycle after the expense of all the meds.

So, Saturday night, Sookie Stackhouse shot herself up with Ovidrel.  I had forgotten to take my shot until I was walking out the door to a Halloween party.  So, I lifted my apron, lowered my Merlotte’s booty shorts and got’er done.  So what if I got a little blood on my shirt.  I *am* in love with a vampire, after all.  Two, to be specific.  Mmmm.  Vampire Eric.

I digress.

We were also instructed to get busy on Saturday night, to have some sperm waiting in case I ovulated from the Ovidrel before the IUI – and to clean out my hubby’s pipes so that his IUI sample would be fresh as a daisy on Monday.  We were so tired, and somewhat drunk, after the party – thank goodness for PreSeed!  Wham, Bam, Goodnight Ma’am.

Fast-forward to Monday – my hubs went in at 8am to make his deposit to the Bank of Baby, and I didn’t have to go in til 9:30.

Then, it was my turn.   For the third time in 48 hours, someone other than my husband was trying to get a peek at my hoo-ha.  It’s amazing how quickly we’ll drop our drawers for a complete stranger, isn’t it?

Nurse Amy comes at me with something that had to have come from Edward Scissorhands’ supply closet.

I closed up shop, and tried to jump off the table.  She assured me it wasn’t a needle, but let me tell you.  I thought for sure that thing was going to come out my nose.

After laying on the table and having her try three times to get it into my “slightly mispositioned cervix”, she finally let out a sigh and said, ‘Ah, there we go.”   She then plunged slowly so as to avoid “sperm backwash” (her words, not mine), and then pulled out.

“Ok.  I’m done,” said Nurse Amy.

So I asked, “Was it good for you?”

She laughed and said, “Oh, yeah baby.  I totally hope I just got you pregnant.”

So now, we wait.  We “Two Week Wait” to be exact.  I’ll find out the results just before Thanksgiving.

Good thing my turkey baster is still clean.

I think my oven’s broken.

Have you ever tried to bake a cake, and knew with 100% confidence that you followed the recipe to the letter, only to have it turn out like this:

That’s how I feel after my first follicle check.  Inexplicable failure.  I think my oven’s broken.

I did all of my shots to the letter.  While traveling and juggling a crazy schedule away from home.  I went for my follicle check after 4 days of Follistim and Menopur shots.

Left side:  EMPTY.  Zero.  Nada.

Right side:  one teeny tiny follicle hanging out sad and alone, because a MONSTER cyst had reappeared and was sucking all the meds for its own nourishment.  A cyst, mind you, that had just painfully been drained a week before.

Bastard.

I felt so defeated.  My doctor told me that this could go one of two ways, and it’s too soon to tell yet which way it will be.

1.  The cyst could just be a nuisance, and it may be too soon for the follicles to have developed (some people are slower developers than others); or,

2.  The cyst could be hogging all the meds and cannibalizing the follicle development.

If it’s number 2, we have to kill this cycle and wait another month before trying again.

My doctor has increased my dosage to see if he can stimulate the follicles over the next couple of days.  I’m going back on Saturday for an ultrasound to see if Cyrus the Cyst is still at the all-you-can-eat buffet, or if he’s spreading the love to his little follie friends.

I’m praying that the follies are getting their drink on right now, because I already feel so defeated.  If I have to kill this cycle and wait another month to even get started, well… that’ll just take the cake.

The shitty, floppy, inedible cake.  From my old, broken oven.

Wine, needles, hotel room floors and belly buttons

Would you believe that airport security was not nearly as interested in my infertility issues as I am?   Hrmph.  🙂

Now, I have my drug paraphernalia all sprawled out inside my hotel room fridge.  That might explain why the only housekeeping service I’ve received is having my bed made… the poor lady won’t even touch my bathroom counter or desk!

I geared up to do my first shot on Sunday night, and admittedly nearly got drunk before I did it.  Two beers and three glasses of red wine were my pre-cocktail cocktail.

I stumbled back to my room and mustered the courage to try this first shot alone in my hotel room after a cocktail hour and before a business dinner.  I had a 15-minute window before I had to be at another event.

I spread out my gear on the hotel room floor (surely, that’s the most sterile location, right?) and began to sweat.  Half from nerves, half from the wine.  I take one last gulp of wine and pinched up a hunk of belly fat and cringed with closed eyes at the thought of piercing my belly with this needle for the first time.  I exhaled and took a look at the injection site, and snorted in laughter at the reality of what I saw.

Here I was, chicken-shit to stick this little needle into my skin a mere 2 inches away from my  [formerly] pierced belly button.   A piercing that took a needle three times as long and twice as big in diameter, and went all the way through to the other side.  A needle that I paid good money to stick through my body – while sober – when I was fresh out of college.

When I realized how ridiculous this was, I pushed the wine glass aside and stuck that bitchass needle into my belly.

That’s not to say I didn’t have another glass of wine on Night 2 … let’s not get crazy.

 Two shots down, two to go til first ultrasound to check follicles.

Do I look like a terrorist to you?

I used to freak out about whether or not my travel-sized shampoos and lotions would send the airport TSA agents into red alert.   Never did I imagine I’d have to explain the 10 hypodermic syringes, 10 Q-cap needles, additional multi-gauge needles, plus 12 vials of questionable liquids and powders as I walk through the screening area of my local airport.

Oh, and did I mention I’m on a direct flight to our nation’s capital, as well?  Awesome.

As luck would have it, our first round of IVF coincides with a business trip and I have to do my injections from a luxurious hotel room overlooking National Harbor.

I have my plan all figured out.  I plan to march right up to the first TSA screener and declare my infertility issue to him and all of the commuters within hearing distance. I plan to fan my Rx papers that match my name to every vial of questionable substance and flash my pearly whites and baby blues and dare him to question my allegiance to my country.

I may or may not have “America, the Beautiful” queued up in my iPhone ready to play in case of emergency.

Watch the news tonight.  My true identity may be revealed 🙂

I’ll update you soon on how Operation Shoot Up goes tonight.  Wish me luck (and courier me some wine)!

Sh*t’s about to get real: pre-IVF wiggage

This is what I thought IVF looked like:

Ok – not really.  But I never really thought about the fact that DH and I would actually have to be an integral, physical part of the process leading up to this:

With mommy and daddy no where in sight, that is IVF from the doctor’s perspective.  You can imagine my shock when I realized that this is what IVF actually looks like from mommy’s perspective (and this is just for one month):

Today, I go in for my baseline ultrasound and mock-transfer (to make sure my plumbing will cooperate when they do the real deal in a couple of weeks).  Then, on Sunday night, while away on a business trip in another state (and without my husband), I get to start giving myself belly injections every night.  I thought I could handle this.  I thought this would be no big deal.

Now, I’m starting to wig a little.

Not about the pain (though that is definitely on my mind).  But about the reality of what we’re about to do.

We already have a healthy 4-year old.  Are we rocking his world with this?

We didn’t have to do IVF with him.  Should we reconsider this?

What if they mix up the embryos post-genetic screening and we don’t transfer a healthy one?

What if a year of trying with no luck (and 3 losses) is  a sign that we shouldn’t have another child?

Our doctor has told us why he thinks we’re having issues with a sticky bean, and if he’s right, IVF should rule any of those issues out.  So, in his mind, it’s a healthier, more promising result than if we tried to do this on our own for another indefinite period of time.

Why do we have so much trouble trusting?  Trusting our instincts, our doctors, the experts, God.

I’m a control freak by nature.   It’s hard for me to put my trust in others and turn this over to those who know better.   I’m trying to have faith in the doctors, in God, in the process.  But I’m wigging a little.

Did any of you ask yourself the same questions and struggle with your decision at all?  What helped you trust, and let go?

I haven’t even told my family we’re about to embark on this journey.  Over the past 12 months of TTC, I have spared the details because I didn’t feel like fielding the “how’s it going this month” questions, or the relentless advice.  And I didn’t have it in me to comfort them about the loss that I was experiencing.  Now, it feels wrong not to let them know what we’re about to go through – but it also feels abrupt to just spring it on them.  I’m not sure what to do…  I’m tempted to try Round 1 and see what happens, and open up to them after we know the results (around Thanksgiving).  What would you do?

Financial assistance resources for IVF

Sunnyside and I were both faced with the reality of IVF within days of each other.  Sunnyside is currently on the researching and consultation side (with some glimmer of hope that they may be able to still knock this out the old-fashioned way), while I am about to embark on Round 1 of our IVF treatment.

One place where our journeys converge is on the financial research path.  I have amazing insurance that does offer some IVF coverage, but there were a couple of weeks where we thought we were going to have to pay anywhere from $5,000 – $15,000 out of pocket for genetic testing that wasn’t covered under our policy.  And, this doesn’t include the $400/month for meds I will have to pay after insurance covers their portion.  Meanwhile,  Sunnyside doesn’t have IVF coverage in her healthcare plan, and is facing even larger medical bills.  And even larger Rx bills.

As a result, we’ve both been doing some research on financing options and came across a link that may be useful to some of you.

The folks over at FertileHope.org have compiled a list of organizations that may offer various levels of financial assistance, depending on your situation.

There are programs for:

• Achieving Pregnancy (IVF grants, shared cost programs for 2nd rounds, low insurance coverage, etc)
• Fertility Medications (patient assistance programs, coupon sites, rebates, etc)
• Fertility Preservation (for folks who can’t afford to freeze their embryos)
• Overall financing options
• Shared risk programs (where you share the cost with your doctor!)
• And more.

Good luck!  We hope you find a way to achieve your dream!

Off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of IVF

Well, it’s official.  We have started our IVF journey.

The TTC journey is supposed to feel like you’re walking on the yellow brick road.  Beautiful, colorful, hopeful.

Right now, I feel more like I’m in the forest being pelted by fruit from angry trees.

We went for our first IVF consult this week.  In that appointment, we learned all of the aspects of IVF that you don’t realize.  You start off thinking, “Oh, they’ll just take some eggs, take some sperm, mix it up in a lab and baste it up in there.  Viola.  Done.”

Mmmmm. No.

FOURTEEN prescriptions, three sizes of syringes, and questionable insurance coverage later – we’re shell-shocked

When you start IVF you have to completely change your frame of mind.  It’s no longer just an emotional journey.  Now it’s a business journey.  For me, it became a second job. I’ve spent at least two hours a day for the past five days on the phone with HR directors at my company and reps with my insurance company trying to get my coverage straight.  Yes, I realize I’m very lucky in that I have IVF coverage and many people don’t.  However, when you aren’t bargaining on any substantial financial investment, any uncovered procedures can throw you for a loop.  In our case, our doctor was adamant about us performing pre-implantation embryo genetic screening, which was allegedly not covered by my insurance.  The cost of this, if uncovered, would limit us to ONE round of IVF, as opposed to the three we thought we were going to have.

Fortunately, I have gotten them to change their mind and my procedures will be covered.  But not before screaming at four different people on many consecutive days via phone and email, writing letters, researching online, and becoming completely consumed with this process.  I had to detach myself emotionally and put on my business hat.  This was hard.  Because what is this journey, if not emotional?

So now, it seems that we’re out of the fruit-pelting angry tree forest and past the sleep-inducing poppies.  We’re off to see the wizard.   But, I can’t just kick back and let the doctor work his magic.  Oh no.

I have to go pick up 14 prescriptions at the pharmacy on Friday.  I have to start giving myself shots.  In my belly.  Every day.  For ten days.  I “should expect” to become irritable and bloated, with knots in my muscles from the shots.  Oh, and I get to do this for the first time alone, from the comfort of a hotel room, as I will be on a business trip during this critical period of time.  DH can’t be there to help or comfort.

Next time I hear someone tell me they got pregnant on accident, I may stab them with an empty syringe.

I don’t know where the road ahead will take us.  I hope it’s to a good place, full of miracles and wonder.  We have the best doctor, and the best insurance.   Our doctor has high hopes that this will work for us.  I want to trust him.

But I may click my heels a few times, just in case.