Still Passing Open Windows ....

CD1

So much hope this cycle. So much hope, I really thought it was the one.

I feel like I have this civil servant body that plods along with a big stomach straining the buttons of his kakhi shirt as he pitches up at work every day and shuffles his papers along from 8.30 to 12.30 and then from 1.30 to 5.30. He's starting to show signs of age but he still does his work acceptabley even if there are a few areas which are a bit iffy. Part of the cervical function was eliminated due to budget cuts and although he still accepts work, everyone knows he cannot do it. His skills at handling the pancreatic function are abysmal and despite all the pregnancy manuals on his desk, we all know that expecting him to actually produce a baby is like expecting a two year old to produce a marketing plan. Theory is more his area than action but hey, he comes to work every day and besides, who else can we get? And all the motivational talks and books and therapists that get thrown at him seem to have no influence whatsoever, the next morning there he is at his desk, hair carefully combed over the bald spot, still doing his administration the same way he's been doing it for years despite yesterday's award winning presentation entitled "Triple your productivity, express your inner CEO at work!".

Nothing I do seems to work - therapists, reflexology, acupuncture, vitamins, caffeine-free, alcohol-free, rest & relaxation. All that remains is just biting the fucking bullet and doing all the IVFs my insurance will pay for, and thank bloody goodness for that otherwise I really would shoot myself and wouldn't that shock the civil servant bod although knowing him, he would probably survive, civil servants never die, they are an indestructible species despite other inefficiencies.

Life in a fishbowl

H and I have different ways of dealing with infertility, not just male/female but cultural. I have something big to do and I withdraw and conserve my energy for the project at hand. H talks about it to his nearest and dearest whereas you have to drag information out of me with a tow rope hitched to a landrover. I just do not like talking about my private life to everyone and the longer this goes on, the more it's becomes a case of BLING! YOU FAIL! and having to tell this time after time hammers my self esteem flatter than a pancake.

H was talking to his mother and I heard him say, "No, we don't know yet." Then he spoke to the cook who wanted to say hello and he said, "No, we find out next week." Hell, let me just set up an email list and send everyone daily missives, "Little discharge today but it's all white so need to get alarmed. Slight nausea which disappeared as the day went on. Left boob sensitive, no, nothing actually, false alarm."

H doesn't understand. For him, telling people is getting support from them. For me, firstly telling people means I get all sorts of advice, "You should take it easy," "You shouldn't travel," "Don't get stressed, take time out for yourself," etc. etc.; and secondly it means that I feel this immense pressure to achieve and every time we don't, well it's Carlynn the disaster uterus and man, do I feel good after hearing, "No, it didn't work. Yes, we will try again."  H doesn't feel this pressure but just knowing people know makes me feel stressed. I want to fall pregnant quietly in my own little space and let the baby grow on its own without having all the mothers and aunts we know giving me little titbits of useful information. I just want to be left alone, no questions, no advice, just let this future child appear however it chooses to do so.

So of course we had a huge fight, H said he won't talk to his mother in front of me but that what do I expect him to do, lie to everyone? Well, yes, be vague dammit at the very least. I stomped off and now I just feel that there is so little chance of me ever falling pregnant and ever carrying to term. State of marital relations: bad, bad, bad. If anyone out there has very involved families, how do you handle it? How do you feel comforted and not stressed by all the attention?

Monitoring

Artblog wrote a post about fertility awareness and asks if we can actually know too much? I am definitely in that space right now. Analysing possible heartburn (which thanks to Artblog, I now know is a possible implantation symptom) because as you know, today, or tomorrow, is probably implantation day so now is the time, people! Big things are happening. Or alternatively sweet blow all is happening. However, I am being Pollyanna-like today and believing that big things are happening because:

1. heartburn - check
2. low blood sugars - check
3. thirst - check

and I thought I had a heightened sensitivity to smells until H said the whole car smelled like the brownies we were taking to a bbq and I could not smell a thing so I had to scrap that symptom.

So, so far so good. Oh yes, and I have a great story to tell you. I managed to avoid alcohol during the whole bbq last night and it was so easy; ask for a glass of water at the first offer of a drink and then it's everyone for themselves so I just never poured a glass of wine. Then around 11 o'clock, a friend comes up to me and says, "You know the competition between Canadian and English wine that's taking place? You're one of the judges."

Of course. And rather than pull her aside and tell her about the transfer and that I was avoiding alcohol and caffeine, I just very Englishly said, "Ok." One does not talk about private things, you see, or one's womanly ... issues, even to girlfriends. No, the truth is I am just tired of telling all and sundry what's happening, when it is happening and how it is happening. A little privacy would be nice, and if I have to pay a failed transfer for the privacy, hey, we have another embryo sitting in the freezer, it's not a biggie. (Note to self: discuss with therapist).

So the competition was held and in the end I probably ended up drinking 6 sips of wine, give or take a few second tastes just to be sure that English champagne is really not very nice, so that's what? A glass of wine? And the said champagne had won best sparkling wine grown outside the Champagne region last year so the judges' probably do not have a future in wine tasting. But it was fun. Only one baby came, there were no pregnant women and it was a night where conversation flowed and there was always someone to chat to and I had some great conversations and came home feeling like a nice, normal person.

Today at lunch I had two glasses of wine, small ones but still two. H says, "Normally you wouldn't even know you were pregnant. What harm is it going to do?" Let's hope he is right.

The transfer

So on Wednesday morning we get to the hospital without getting lost in the maze of one way streets, thanks to H's birthday present from moi, his GPS which he is loving. My bladder was full, we were early, in the right place and I was thinking, "Mmm, no blog entry from this. I'll have to think about something else to write about."

The RE arrives, as per my request after the previous horrible transfer done by a less experienced assistant. He shakes our hands and we go into the room next to the laboratory.

"So you're transferring one?" he says.

I looked at him.

"No," I said slowly, "I said on Friday that I wanted to transfer two after the last transfer was unsuccessful."

He looked puzzled and went out to check with the lab tecnicians.

"F*ck," I said, "F*ck. F*ck. F*ck."

I just felt like crying. I almost walked out. What was the point of tranferring ONE embryo with a FET? It had barely been worth the trip.

The RE came back in and confirmed that only one had been transferred and he explained why we could not wait for the second one to thaw, something about the embryo being able to wait for the endometrium but the endometrium not waiting for an embryo. I could hardly follow I was so angry.

"F*ck," I said under my breath as I lay down, and I have to be really angry to use this word.

"Happy thoughts," said H, "Happy thoughts."

I swore again.

"Hey," said H, desperately trying to calm me, "No bad words in front of the the ..." and he gestured to the screen.

"There's the embryo," said the RE and I lay there, staring at the ceiling with smoke coming out my ears.

"Don't you want to see?" asked H.

"Whatever," I said.

The transfer went much better than last time, aside from that little slip, and we had a useful conversation about the procedure used for IVF and what to do in the future. If this FET does not work, we can transfer the remaining embryo in a month. Hell, I can go on doing FETs as long as we have embryos frozen. Do not pass begin, do not collect the needles. On the bright side, this is the fastest we have been able to go. We get a try a month with the IVF followed by FET, it's not too bad. Says Pollyanna.

And thank you so much to everyone who has commented. This commentathon has been great. I get all excited when I check my blog and see 8, EIGHT, comments! And I have discovered some bloggers I would never have come across otherwise, it's such a good idea, well done Mel, you're the greatest.