Still Passing Open Windows ....

Probably negative

Super result for a test, n'est-ce pas? Well, it started off as probably negative but the nurse wanted to check with the doctor and she came back with a definitely negative. I thought I was handling it well but now I just feel tiredly sad, as if I've run 10km and have no energy to do anything else.

I thought that if the Stirrup Queen's lounge exisited in my neighbourhood, I would probably go over and see who was there, have a coffee and chat a bit but if anyone asked how I was doing I would say, "Ok. I've got a plan B, we'll try that in a couple of weeks so that's good," and generally put on a brave face, "No, everything's fine, I'm feeling good, surprisingly," and it would only be when I got home that I would collapse in tears and lie on the couch watching junk TV. It was imagining this perfect support environment that made me realise that I accept support very badly, I need to slink off and lick my wounds. I am good about putting on a brave face but bad at letting people know how I really feel. Maybe because it feels like the devastation I feel seems so huge that I don't think anyone could handle it. I feel like people would fall into the huge black hole of disappointment and finally crawl out days later, shaken by its depth.

I was watching Scrubs last night and Carla asks the hot new gynae for a fertility test. "What the hell is a fertility test?" I asked my husband but I sat there, glued to the episode in case there was some test I had not yet done which might just shed some light on why I haven't fallen pregnant yet.

On one level it seems incredible that an IVF can fail. I mean, everything was there, everything was working. Why do the cells not carry on dividing? Why does implantation not take place? And what do I do next?

In the meantime I will read one of the 10 books I have bought in the past week. Yes, shopping therapy is in full swing over here. Clothes are boring, my boobs are too big for the clothes I like and all the tops at the moment look like pregnancy wear so back to my old favourite: books! I bought a wide range; Nigella Lawson for her comfort factor, detective stories for their fast-paced storylines and usual lack of anything babylike, a Roald Dahl biography to explain his secrets of success, some French books to expand the vocab (which I will probably never read), some junky chick lit and a Philip Pullman as I am big into children's fantasy at the moment. Aaah, just writing about my books is a balm to my soul. Come to me, my preciousesssss. 

In my wildest dreams

I received an email from one of the motivational sites I subscribe to saying, "Imagine everything in your wildest dreams for the next four weeks coming true ..." Well, I am spotting. Sometimes I manage to cling on to a wild dream and believe that this is late late late implantation spotting. Most of the time I just think that this is over.

I'll do the FET but a childfree future is seeming more and more possible. The more we try, the more we move down this road, the farther we seem to get from ever having a baby. Our child seems to recede into the distance with each year, getting fainter and fainter and one day I will wake up and not even be able to imagine him or her, or see me being a parent, going on holiday with children or picking kids up from school. I will just be me, as I am now, just older. Sometimes it is so sad it breaks my heart and sometimes it just seems like my life. No child, what's the big change?

Weekends and all

We went away for the weekend, to a little town in Italy for a friend's birthday party. It was a beautiful area. Italy is just so scenic, it amazes me every time. You can tell that it's the home of style, even little towns are beautiful and have these incredible houses with statutes just weathering away on their terraces. I am in love with the country. The birthday party was fun too. Only two couples bought children and it was a pretty childfree two days which was just fabulous. There was only one iffy moment when the guy next to me asked if we had children and when I said no, he said, 'But you're still young,' and I said a bit snappily, 'No, not really, I'm 35', and the conversation ground to a halt. Other than that though, it was a really nice two days. I am just exhausted now, five hours drive there and five hours drive back can really sap the energy. Off to bed to read Peggy Orenstein.

What to do ....

The good thing is that here we get given little round white pills to be ... inserted, let's just say, instead of intra-muscular injections for the progesterone. The bad thing is that you do it last thing at night before going to bed and timing can be tricky.

Take last night. It was H's birthday so we had to have birthday s#x I thought. So I don't insert my two little pills and I climb into bed. He climbs in and snuggles up to me. And starts going to sleep. So, dilemma: after Monday's transfer I am not going to initiate this very actively, it's more for him than me but how long should I wait before I get up and go and take my progesterone? I lie there but he definitely seems asleep so I get up and go to the bathroom, blah blah blah. And guess what? When I come back to bed he is awake and affectionate.

I promised a steamy weekend and we went to sleep.

Why is life so complicated with this whole infertility thing? Do couples realise how lucky they are when they don't have to think about days of the month or medicine to take at a certain time or doctor's appointments on certain days? I suppose I wouldn't realise how easy things were either if I hadn't gone through this, it would just be normal.

Please hold while I transfer

The transfer was yesterday morning. It was quite horrible, made more difficult by the state of my cervix (yes, I am getting bored of that topic too but doctors seem fascinated by it and bring it up at every opportunity. I have the equivalent of a Heidi Klum cervix, doctors can't tear their eyes away from it and have to show it to other doctors, "Look over here! Wow! It's much shorter in real life than in the textbooks, isn't it? Hey, Marty, come and see what we have here!")

Anyway, the transfer is done and now I should live my life normally, according to the transfer doctor. I haven't really moved from the couch since.

This little zygote seems incredibly real to me. I see it with feelings and emotions and am already trying to protect it as much as possible. I popped a folic acid tablet in my mouth and thought, "This is for you, my baby." The pill promptly fell out of my mouth. I will not take this as a sign.

Out damn egg ...

The egg retrieval went fine. Well, sort of ...

We got lost on the way to the hospital. I had a complete flake out looking for maternity and told H that we had to resolve this issue, that after this try was over, we were getting divorced, that I could never give him a child, that this was the end, that I couldn't take any more, that it was unfair that I could never have a child and that he could, that we should separate. Tears. More wild planning for the future. H trying to calm me down, telling me that if I didn't want to do this, we didn't have to, that we could go home right now and me contemplating that lovely possibility for all of ten wonderful seconds.

Then I calmed down a little, we found maternity (why does egg retrieval have to take place in maternity?? who was the dork who decided that reproductive medicine should share a building with newborn babies??), I fought with the nurse as she told us we were late and I told her we were not, we processed our papers, I told the receptionist that I had no religion as I didn't want anyone coming to my bedside then felt guilty and told her that I was Christian "Which is what? Protestant? Catholic? I'll just put other," she said.

And then the operating theatre was a breeze although I am positive I farted as soon as I was under. I don't want to to know but I am sure they refer to me as The Farter with four follicules. Yes, they got four. I am very happy with this, it's not much but it's fine with me. Four is good. Getting to egg retrieval is good.

Three fertilised and they will transfer one, due to the diabetes and my miniscule cervix. Thanks to Bumble, I asked about doing a FET immediately afterwards if this does not work and it's totally possible. Yes!!! Two for the price of one, said H, my beloved husband who was still with me and not phoning lawyers to extricate himself from the marriage.

So. Tomorrow is the transfer. Let us hope all goes well.

Taking to my bed

I love being at home. I love looking around and seeing my books and familiar things. I love being able to go to bed and lie there and read and sleep and just generally do nothing. So, I have taken to my bed. Pretty much.

Yesterday was horrible. I had an ultrasound in the morning and there was a new doctor being shown the ropes. Please don't mention my short cervix, I thought.

'Mrs. H has a very short cervix, there is practically none left as you can see,' says the doctor doing the ultrasound. 'She fell pregnant after her fourth insemination but lost the pregnancy at five months.'

'So what are my chances of carrying a pregnancy to term?' I had to ask after this repeat of my depressing reproductive history.

'Well, you know there is no guarantee,' says the doctor.

'Yes, but if there's 5% chance that I can actually carry a pregnancy to term then there is no point in embarking on another pregnancy that will simply end half way through,' I said.

'No, it's more than 5%,' said the doctor, 'I've seen patients with a similar condition and they have ... carried babies, not to term, but everything has been ok.'

Then the blood taking hurt. The vein is scarred and the nurse had to prod a little to get the blood going. She took the needle out and it still hurt. There is something about having my blood taken that empties me of all strength. It is as if the needle sucks all my emotional reserves out and I am often left feeling like I want to cry, as if I am raw in front of the world and have no more protection.

'How are things?' said my reflexologist, when I went to see her that afternoon.

'Ok,' I said, 'It's been easier than I thought it would be.'

Ha.

That evening I just started to cry and I couldn't stop. I prepared the syringes and tears ran down my cheeks the whole time. I pulled out the little stopper on the syringe too far and all the liquid dribbled down the basin. It just all felt like too much. This is not how I want to have my children.

So today, at this morning's ultrasound, I asked to be put on sick leave straight away, instead of after the retrieval, and I have taken to my bed. And I feel better. Not having to talk to anyone, not having to deal with anything beyond entertaining myself is soothing me. Two years ago I would never have asked a doctor to put me on sick leave because I was feeling tearful. Now I don't care. This is what I need, tough if it looks bad. So does my reproductive history.

Retrieval is probably Thursday. This time next week this will all be behind me but if preparing for an IVF is this gruelling for me, what is dealing with the result going to be like?

Four

Ultrasound this morning. We have four follicles (at any rate I think that is what they are called, ovocytes in French). One on one side and three on the other with a possible 9mm one we might be able to recruit. So funny. As if one little runty follicle is dawdling down the street but if he gets a move on and eats his spinach and shoots up overnight, we might be able to include him on the ship. Mixed metaphors galore there but I thought the idea of a possible recruit was too funny.

I am not obsessing about only having four. The doctor looked up the cycle I fell pregnant, an IUI with injectibles, and I only had one. Thank goodness I didn't know that at the time. Only one. Good grief. And it worked. For 19 weeks, until my body panicked and suddenly hit the brakes.

We are doing ISCI too. I asked why and the doctor explained it was because I had a low response. Fine. She asked if I felt this was too invasive. Hell no! We passed that line a loooooong time ago. Go ahead. Insert that needle. Feel free.

Sooo ... things seem OK. Who knows?

(I have been ordering lots of packages from Amazon and Stampington which are poised to arrive around the end of the two week wait so if all goes to hell, at least I will have nice toys to play with as I wallow in the swamps of despair. Always prepared.)

Everything normal

Trisomymommy has just posted a post about doing IVF now that she has a child and the difference between the first time round, when she had massages, acupuncture and gave up coffee, and this time round when she just did it and it seems to have worked. I am so glad for her. I wish her a simple, uncomplicated pregnancy, or as easy as it can be with a toddler. And, of course it has to come back to me, it's all about me despite what H thinks, I wish for an IVF cycle like this too. Where you do the injections and don't obsess about every pin prick of the needle and whether the drop dripping down your thigh will mean the difference between an embryo and nothing.

What does it take though to get to this point? Where you can handle all the needles and doctor's appoinments in your stride? Does it take another baby at home, waiting for you, dependent on you? Does it take a year that has demanded all of your strength and energy and wisdom? Do you have to go through a trial that demands enormous reserves and survive, because we always survive despite what we think will happen to us, to have this sort of equilibrium? Is it a belief in your own strength that gives you a sense of calm? Or is it simply exhaustion? Or is it just ultimately your character and the type of person you are and us drama queen types can forget ever being that zen about the whole process? Because I might not have a baby at home but I have been through a couple of hellish years and I am still nervous as hell about this IVF.

I don't know. If I think about being pregnant, I think I was calm last time around. I think I was just taking one day at a time BUT I was also seeing my therapist regularly, going for acupuncture once a fortnight, going to see my reflexologist once a month and reading nutrition books in bed at night until I couldn't sleep for imagining portions of calcium-rich food in little single serving bowls. So, no, I wasn't actually that calm.

Now I am just tired of the whole circus. Of listening to people's advice or reassurance. Of hoping and thinking positively and it all coming to nothing. Maybe that is what it takes to be able to go through IVF calmly, without turning your whole life upside down for two weeks and ending conversations with "Mmm, next week will be difficult. Let's do it in June rather."

Maybe it's just being tired of observing your life through a magnifying glass but still, somewhere deep down, wanting to continue and so you do, but you eliminate all the unnecessary actions and just do what is asked you and not much more.

Maybe it is also familiarity. I have done about 6 IUIs now and I can do them without much stress. Inject. Go for the ultrasounds. Go for the insemination. Go back to work. Normal day. You know what to expect. You do it. It's more or less the same. What's the big deal? I hope that's what happens. I hope this cycle works. I hope I fall pregnant. I hope I stay pregnant. I hope the baby survives. I hope I fall pregnant again. I hope the baby is fine. And in a dream world, I fall pregnant a fourth time and have my dreamed-of third baby. And then I stop. Big dreams. But I bet you I am super relaxed about IVF by that third time!

And I actually began this post planning on moving on to say my bloodwork came back and all is normal. I start on merio-something tonight and go in for an ultrasound on Friday. And Hope is busy dusting the musical instruments and polishing the trombones. Are there trombones in a waltz? That Hope chick is a bit spacey.

Still here

Oh, scintillating title but I cannot think of a snappier one. All is fine. I am fine which is wonderful, wonderful. I am basking in the glory of feeling fine actually because on Friday I felt like a frog that had been run over on the highway.

I woke up with a headache, went to work and then went for a reflexology appointment. It just went downhill from there. I arrived feeling a little nauseous and headachey but by the end of the reflexology session, I felt as if I had to concentrate not to throw up. "Drink lots of water this afternoon and rest if you can," said my reflexologist cheerily. I just smiled wanly. I crawled back to work, after buying a bag of dry biscuits to crunch which did help surprisingly enough. I drove home at the speed of a limping frog and climbed into bed with 2 paracetamol and slept until 6 pm. The next day I felt a little better but still pretty ghastly but luckily by Saturday evening I was feeling normal again. My period had arrived the night before the killer headache, and that is the only explanation I can find for how absolutely horrendous I felt.

Now I feel fine and the relief at feeling better is making me positively giddy with energy. Every now and then I feel a twinge of the killer headache but then it's gone. So far so good. Let's see how the bloating goes. That really worries me. Superficial and shallow of me, I know, but I already have a belly and if I become bloated I just cannot deal with "Are you pregnant?" glances from colleagues. It will be like university when I skipped class because I had a huge pimple. Forget serious illness, social embarrassment will keep me at home every time.