I started this blog quite awhile into the whole IVF, baby making journey and so my recent posts have been a bit back dated as to where I’ve come from. In order to play catch up I’ve decided to write a full post about the last 12 months. I’m nearing another round of IVF so I want to be sure that I’m blogging in the moment. The idea of the blog came after another failed IVF attempt. This was to be my golden egg story but I’ll get to that in a moment. In February this year I had 2 wonderful, beautiful embryos implanted. I wrote to them, spoke to them, told them that I loved them, I prayed for them, I willed them to stay. I would have used those awful pessaries for 9 months straight, I would have chopped off my right arm. The two week wait was a seemingly calm time for me. You see, I genuinely and sincerely thought it would work. It was all part of the plan, not working was just not an option. The day of the result is clearly etched in my mind. I was at work when I rang to get the results. It didn’t occur to me that I should be at home, away from humans and away from normality. I didn’t expect to get much work done in the afternoon. Foolishly I assumed I would be googling baby prams and maternity wear for most of the afternoon. I rang Dr M’s office and the receptionist simply said she was sorry and that it was a no. I remember hanging up and thinking for a very split second that I had just had a bad dream and that if I called back it would be okay. I begged God that I could relive the last 2 minutes and it could be different. I drove home, I got undressed and stepped into the shower, I fell to the floor and I cried so hard and so deeply I thought I was going to die.
Fast forward a couple of months and a much needed holiday I returned with a more pragmatic approach but with such determination that I would not give up. A few natural attempts whilst trying to get my cycle back on track didn’t go to plan and so back to Dr M I went. My specialist has a bit of an ego and is renowned for his not so gentle bedside manner. The thing is, his ego is a good thing – I get the sense he’s the competitive one in the clinic and he wants the best stats, the most number of pregnancies, he wants to be the best and being the best means getting patients pregnant. I’m okay with this, I can forgo a bit of warm and fuzzy bedside manner for a doctor who is just as focussed on getting the right outcome as I am. I like him.
Round three started off not so good. I’m a poor responder apparently. That’s a bloody joke, I hate being average and I’ve never been poor at anything. (Though mum would argue that I was pretty shit at maths). I’m a Type A personality, I have a successful career, I’m use to being in control – what the hell were my ovaries playing at? More injections and high dosages, scan after scan revealed one little lonely egg. Just one. It looked like the right size and all my hormone levels were good so the question was – drop $7000 to get one egg that may or may not fertilise? Hell yeah. Monday egg pick up went to plan and I was instructed to ring the next day if my one little egg decided to fertilise. A lunch time call revealed that my little egg had become a little embryo and so it was transfer in 24 hours. It only takes one became my new mantra. Because it seems NOTHING has gone quite right, egg transfer also had a minor complication. Skin growing over my cervix meant that a 15 minute procedure turned in to a 4 hour wait for a transfer that had to be done under anaesthetic.
Fast forward two weeks and on a dreaded Thursday morning I got my next “I’m sorry it’s a no”. It was at this point I decided that I needed an outlet for this bullshit before it consumed me so this blog was born. Self indulgent maybe but if I don’t let it all out then I will quite possibly go mad. The plan being that it will allow me to compartmentalise this one area of my life outside of my fertility. It would allow friends/families to feel like they could know where things were at without having to ask me if they didn’t want to. God knows they must be getting sick of me, I’m getting sick of me.
In my dream life, when I’m a hot mother-with-child some publishing house will want to publish my blog, turn it into a book and I can be a hot mother/wife/writer. Too much to ask?