The most important instruction I received from Casa Conception post egg transfer was to stay as stress-free as possible for the next ten days.
On Thursday, three days after transfer, I discovered that one of my best friends had been diagnosed with breast cancer and I was then, and am now, devastated for her and her young family. On Saturday, five days after transfer, my 69 year old father decided it would be really clever to consume four bottles of wine, followed by a cask chaser, on an empty stomach. He then completed his smashing performance by falling and having a heart attack.
After a few scary days he is now recovering well, much to my relief. And my girlfriend has since had further tests which reveal she has caught the cancer very early and her prognosis for recovery is very good. But it was a shaky few days and neither of these events were what I would consider to be particularly conducive to staying ‘stress-free’.
Needless to say I wasn’t really surprised when I started spotting this morning. Unsurprised but still inconsolable. Knowing we have back ups in the freezer this time has stopped me from collapsing in to a heap, though that’s not to say I haven’t been in tears all morning. I kept it together long enough to drop my darling Devilboy off to childcare with extra big hugs and kisses goodbye, made it to the car and the tears haven’t really stopped since.
Obviously our grade 1 super embryo was a prima donna of a blastocyst who thought itself just too good for a pre-loved uterus. Perhaps it’s for the best that it decided not to take up residence as it probably would have been too high maintenance. We are too laid back for such an uppity wanker of a blastocyst to become part of our family anyway. Take that so called super embryo.
Of course, I don’t mean any of that. We were so excited about our perfect little Blastocyst. And I am numb.
Someone asked me this morning if it really hurt any worse than an unsuccessful non IVF cycles?
My answer is a resounding “F%^k yeah!” It’s like it’s been amplified by 1,000 and not just because it is a much bigger investment… emotionally, physically and financially. In a normal cycle there is just a vague hope, but in an IVF cycle we actually get to meet our little embryo. It existed. We saw it’s utterly perfect mass of expanding cells hatching from its little shell. And when it was transfered for a moment we have success and you begin to nurture and protect the growing life as if it were any normal pregnancy. It’s like being a ‘little bit’ pregnant. But mostly it’s worse because the tiny Blastocyst looked so much like its divine big brother who is real and loved and here and now his tiny celluar sibling is not. a.
It’s been a hard morning and I feel useless and empty and sad. I told a few friends and their responses were understandably awkward but I have decided I am not talking to “live” people any more about this, today or any other day, as I swear that if I hear any of the following platitudes again (I’ve already heard them enough times and always from people who have children coming out of their armpits) I will poke out someone’s eye with a loaded dildocam.
“Never mind, you can try again”. And won’t that be a barrel of laughs!? Yippee. I can hardly wait.
And my personal favourite…
“You should consider yourself LUCKY to even have one”.
LUCKY? Excuse me person with three healthy children, all of whom were conceived with the minimum of fuss – virtually by glancing at a penis – why exactly should I feel lucky?
Lucky? When we had to spend tens of thousand of dollars and go through 4 years of devastation and intrusive medical procedures to get our son? Lucky would be winning him on the lottery.
Lucky? That instead of the conception of our child being an intimate experience between two people in love, it is instead a medical procedure attended by a cast of thousands?
While I feel blessed that all our efforts resulted in my beautiful son, luck has zero to do with his existence.
My apologies for the rant… must dash now, more sobbing required.