A Forest

Well, it has been a funny old week. I have had a Cure earworm for the last 5 days (earworm…where a song sticks in your head and won’t get out). It’s ‘A Forest’, which seems pretty apt at the moment. Not because I’m camping, or because I’m an 80s goth, but because of my current frame of mind:

I don’t really know what to do with myself. The last 18 months have been reassuringly organised. I’ve either been planning an IVF cycle or doing an IVF cycle. Now…I’m not, because I’m not doing any more IVF cycles, ever again. 

I’ve been crying rather a lot. Not in a dramatic fashion next to the coffee machine, but quietly and spontaneously, on my walk home, whilst listening to ‘Desert Island Discs’ or when I hug my husband. There’s a beautiful Christopher Wren church near my office where I go sometimes – I sit in an empty pew, close my eyes and enjoy the smell of polished wood and old Bibles. I talk to everyone in my head – family members here and departed, the ‘inner me’, God, although I feel strange doing that, like an imposter – and it just helps me feel better somehow. I went in there a few days ago for a quiet sob. The Vicar came over for a chat and I explained what has been going on. He’s a lovely man. It felt good to spill the beans to someone who knows nothing about infertility treatment. Maybe I needed that.

I do worry that I might have some sort of screaming meltdown at any moment. I’m doing fine on the outside – getting on with work, smiling, planning a family visit – but every now and again I’m gripped by the realisation that I AM NOT GOING TO GET PREGNANT WITH OUR OWN BABY. Our 5 cycles of IVF were a complete bust. I’m acting like a ‘normal person’ but on the inside I feel like I’m barely holding it together. What do people do in these situations? Quietly sob? Talk to a Vicar? Write a blog and get on with their lives? That’s what I’m doing. I think that’s probably the traditional British approach (perhaps minus the blog and the Vicar).

I’m also aware of the fact that I need to get a grip and remember there are people in far worse situations than me. I could be a disabled beggar in Kinshasa. I could be living in a makeshift refugee camp in Calais. I could be single and desperate for a baby. At least I’m halfway there.

So, what next? Well, I’m a hardcore organiser. I cannot relax. I must have spreadsheets. I am compelled to ‘do’. So it’s only natural that I’ve already started the quest for Plan B. More on that in the next post. For now, please enjoy the Cure.

11dp5dt – as negative as negative can be

image

….and that’s all there is to say about that.

There were no more tears this morning. I’ve started to process┬áthe fact that it’s unlikely we’ll have our own biological baby. Donor eggs or adoption will be the way forward for us. I think I’m ok with that. The baby may not have my dimple, left handedness or bloodhound sense of smell but he/she will be loved and ours. I know I should perhaps take time out to mourn this loss but I’m a ‘doer’ and planning our next move keeps me going. If I don’t keep moving forward I’m going to turn into a blubbering wreck. I’m just so desperate for this to work out somehow. I’m 38, husband is 40 and time is not on our side.

More to follow, I’ve emailed our RE with the news. Thanks to everyone for your support and kind words x

8dp5dt – negative

Tested this morning…. one pink line, not a hint of a second. It was an FRER so I’m pretty confident it would have picked up HCG if there was any to pick up at this stage.

I’m disappointed and sad. This is our last cycle with my eggs and really our last chance to have a baby that is biologically ours. It feels like a loss, maybe even a bereavement.

Thursday is my official test date so I’ll test again even though I know it’s a bust. Wow, I am thoroughly sick of IVF stuff.

Failure

Our little embryo didn’t make it through the thawing process. Embryologist kindly pointed out on the phone that ‘90% make it so this is very unusual’. I’m gutted. Why is this so hard?

Our lovely consultant called straight away. He explained that this ‘defrost failure’ has nothing to do with the quality of the embryo, it’s just down the sheer bad luck. Our embryo was the 1 in 10 that didn’t┬ámake it. This has been a really terrible week.