A line drawn

We had our review with the consultant the other day. We went through the cycle in detail and discussed every aspect. He said that I was perfect, that the embryos were perfect when they were frozen.  He said how surprised he was and how he wouldn't have predicted this outcome for us with so many top quality embryos and having had a successful pregnancy from that batch. He said he know we are searching for reasons why but he just doesn't have any and he, himself, has searched for the answers too. He explained just how rare this is for him. We discussed our options and said how we didn't ever envisage that we would have to consider a fresh try if we wanted a third child. We asked about our chances of a natural conception since that's what happened with Lucy (and we have been trying again since March 2017). He said he would look at the last semen results from the sample that created Stanley. He said that the sperm were fine in quality (which I didn't realise, I always believed they were dodgy in all ways) but the count is "really terrible". He used those words. We asked what we can do to improve the count but there isn't much aside from the usual loose pants, no alcohol. He did say that his brother's consultant in Norway suggested he sat his nether regions in iced water three times a day. Can you imagine? I don't think that's something that we will be trying some how!

So there it is. The end of our reproductive journey. I doubt we will ever embark upon another fresh cycle (we simply don't have the money and have already had all the luck having S & L). But it is hard to get our heads around. My body has reacted badly to all the drugs, shock and upset and I've now been prescribed anti-depressants/sleep inducing drugs to get me through.  Work is looming after the summer break and I'm wondering if I'm able to function well enough to manage (I've already been offered a sick note from the GP but have left it for now). I know I am not coping. I'm a zombie and sleepy all morning. But September is a crucial time in my job and I have my exam classes to think about. I know many people would say that nothing is more important than your health but it's hard when you know you're the only one who can do your job, who knows your kids and their strengths and weaknesses. At present, I have no idea what I will do next week.

It was as we expected yet still feared

I haven't managed to post about it yet. But it was negative like we expected. I knew it would be. But I still didn't expect to feel as devastated as I did. I thought I had got used to the idea. But seeing a test with just one line was awful.

The end of the road has really reached us. Or rather, we have reached it.

Goodbye little embryos. You gave us hope.

The Night Before the End

Tomorrow is Official Test Day. OTD.

I'm sad. It's a weird emotion to feel but it's there because I feel that tomorrow will bring the final end to my reproductive chances; I doubt I will do any more treatment and so tomorrow will officially be the day that it all ends, that all hope of completing our family is gone.

I know we are lucky. We count our blessings every single day. But so do other people yet they still go on to have more babies. It feels like I am surrounded by people who plan their families and their families go according to their plan. It's really not fair. But when has life ever decided to play fair?

There's a tiny tiny sliver of hope deep down about tomorrow. But it's so tiny that I'm not going there, not letting it rise up and be counted as an emotion. Because that really would be getting my hopes up.

Eventually I'll update here with the result. It's less than 10 hours away. The thought of that has made me nervous.

How do I feel? Physically, my head and eyes have been aching today, almost like they would in a migraine but not as bad. I'm thoroughly exhausted (but we have just been in Scotland for a week, including camping for the last two nights with lots of walking). On day 8 past transfer I felt nauseous but other than that I haven't. I have felt hungry but then I always have a good appetite and high metabolism (mostly). The last couple of days my breasts have started to hurt at the sides. This is normal for me in the run up to a period. In fact, I didn't have aching breasts as a sign if pregnancy either time as far as I recall. I have had spotting on and off too but not in the last couple of days really. I know none of these symptoms mean much. But they might eventually serve someone useful.

Roll on tomorrow's first wee. I feel sick at the thought.

It isn't going well

Maybe I was right. Maybe we did use up all of our luck already?

Despite the cycle pretty much going to plan, when it came to defrosting our embryos last week it all came tumbling down. We decided to defrost 6 in the end, on the recommendations of the embryologists because we had so many and they wanted to grow them to blastocyst. In reality, when they defrosted them, 4 of them died, 1 lost a cell and 1 looked dodgy. We were so sad but tried to hold it together as we were at work. They decided to defrost the other six.

At this point I was upset because I thought we would get a few tries out of our 12 top quality embryos and now this was it. And it really was it. The new 6 were thawed and at close of play on the Tuesday 3 of them looked good. We had hope.  We still didn't know whether they would go for a blastocyst transfer or whether we would be in the next day for day three but they said that they would let us know. They did tell us that we needed to prepare for the fact that they might not make it at all. I spent most of the night in tears.

On Wednesday I'm somehow managed to miss the phone call but I called them back. It wasn't good news. None of the embryos had divided over night like they should have. There were four left. All poor quality. We were devastated. Our embryos, our last shot, Stanley's embryo twins, weren't surviving. I didn't stop crying for most of the day.

We went in for our transfer and the embryologist was lovely. She didn't know why or what had caused them to thaw so badly. The consultant also came to see us. He simply said "I'm so very sorry". It was like the words someone would use if they'd got very bad news. He said that he couldn't explain what had happened, that it was very rare.

I remember feeling anxious and upset at embryo transfer last time because they only let us have one back (Stanley) but that was nothing compared to this. I cried my way into the theatre, comforted by the nurses.

While I was laid down, legs akimbo in the stirrup footrests, a woman was talking to us. I think she was one of them embryologists that we had spoken to but I actually wasn't sure who she was. But she spoke about Stanley, of how they had just looked at the card we sent saying thank you after he was born. She asked to see a picture of him now. It must be amazing for them to see these parents coming back again, showing them the result of their handiwork.

Two embryos were placed inside me. The best of a bad lot. I have a scan picture of my tummy with a cross marking where they were placed. The fear that this could be my last ever abdominal 'baby' scan hit me like a tonne of bricks. M stroked my hair throughout. He did that last time too, I remembered when in theatre.

They now have a big tv screen and we got to see our embryos up close. We have a picture of them. But it felt futile. It doesn't feel like I'll be taking a photo of a baby every year on the 18th July like I have done with Stanley for the past 6 years. It feels like this was their goodbye. That these two embabies have come home to mummy to die in me.

I've felt so desperately sad. The consultant said it would take a small miracle. I already have 2 massive miracle children so another is really pushing it. I have cried so much in this past week or so. Last time I knew how many days past transfer I was every day. Now I can barely work it out. Now I'm 8 days post 3 day transfer (although the embryos were at day 2 cleavage stage).

I've also had a bit of bleeding and spotting so have had to increase my medication and pessaries. It really hasn't been a smooth two week wait. I have to test a week today. I already know the result deep down but it will still be hard to see the lack of a second line on the hospital test. I always thought I'd buy an additional test because last time the hospital one was rubbish. But I won't. It will tell me what I already know.

For now I'll keep shoving the pessaries up my arse and the pills down my throat, if only for another week. I am slightly hopeful every so often that we will be one of the miracle few who have this work like this in these crap circumstances. But I realise that it's not a straw that I'm clutching at here, it's a whisper of a seed from a dandelion, one tiny barb of a feather.  I know I'll be devastated on the 2nd of August.

I wrote in one of my newer posts that this was our last shot at completing our family and once the embryos were used up that would be it. But that was before we realised that this wasn't a fair shot. It's not a fair shot if your embryos don't survive the thaw and progress. All 12 of them.  So now I'm considering going again already. It's premature, yes. But I need to think about what happens when it fails.

There's been no talking to the embryos from daddy this time. No 'inside cuddles' like we did with Stanley. I've not even been too bothered about eating healthily. I figured that the deal is made. Me eating some chocolate won't change that at all.

Above all, I'm desperately sad. More so because we know what these embryos can become and how amazing they can be. It's probably futile now. They've most likely long since stopped growing (they would have implanted by now if not). But I'm pleading ever so slightly with the tiny embryos that they give life a shot. That they come and be a part of our family.

Injecting headaches

I've been on Buserelin for 12 days now and AF arrived yesterday. My next appointment is on 29th June, a week tomorrow. In terms of side effects, the main one is a constant headache. When I do my nightly injection it basically feels like I'm injecting headaches!

I'm trying to eat well but it's not working. A busy schedule and meals out planned isn't helping. I have been drinking pomegranate juice and having decaff tea so I've pretty much given up all caffeine. From next week I plan to get going more with pomegranate juice, good healthy foods and pineapple for the week of embryo transfer. I'm supposed to have lots of full fat milk too!

Watch this space.

It really starts here

On Sunday I did my first injection for this frozen embryo transfer cycle. It didn't really hurt and was quite underwhelming. But finally I was at this point. The Friday before I had a transvaginal scan to check that everything was ok given that I have been having stomach pains for the last few weeks. It was absolutely fine and the sonographer told me that I had not long ovulated from my left ovary, which was interesting.

Now it's day 4, I've done injection 4 and taken my 4th of 10 antibiotics. Now all I do is wait until my period arrives next week before ringing up the hospital to see what happens next.

I'm still having acupunctue and can almost see the finish line now. Just a few more before I'm in the two week wait. For real rather than the vague wisp of hope that I've had each month since we started trying for number 3. After Lucy, I really was hopeful.  But I also felt that deep down we would end up using our embryos. I don't believe in destiny. But it does feel like this is the path that I always thought I'd end up on since having Stanley.

Acupuncture

I had acupuncture last time we did IVF and I remember how I wasn't sure if it was doing anything at all but in my desperation I was willing to give everything a shot. I had read online about it increasing success rates and so I was all on board with the idea.  I remember my acupuncturist saying something to me like "when you have your baby in 9 months' time...." I can't remember what the rest of his sentence was but I can remember him saying this as it was the first person who talked to me as if I was actually pregnant when, at this point, I had just had a 4-cell embryo put back in. PUPO (pregnant until proven otherwise).

When we decided to try again I knew that I would have acupuncture again. It is pricey (£40 a session and I've so far had 6 due to the fact that treatment has been delayed) but when you're paying quite a bit for a Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET) then it seems almost negligible. In fact, we paid for our transfer in early April and so all we have to pay for now is the meds that I will need soon.


When I went back to acupuncture it was remarkable how much my memory was jogged and taken back 7 years, to his little studio at the back of his house.  The way that the metal staircase sounded as I walked up took me right back to May 2011. The Chinese music that he played throughout the treatment was exactly the same, to the point I knew what was coming next despite never even hearing it or thinking about it or even really remembering it happened until I was listening to it anew.  Tears pricked my eyes then because right then I remembered that the last time I had been here I hadn't even had Stanley. I hadn't even known he was going to stick around and grow. The magnitude of the feeling that "Wow, it actually worked" was powerful.

When you have IVF treatment and it is successful there are many moments that feel like this, especially once you have given birth. I remember walking casually past Stanley in his moses basket and doing a double take that it was actually him, that he was real.  I also remember M saying when we brought Lucy home for the first time and picked up Stanley from my dad's: "Look in the back of the car". And there they were, there THEY were, together for the first time. A family of four. Stanley AND Lucy, just like this blog. We did it, we had them BOTH. I remember writing somewhere on here "... they will come. Maybe one at a time, maybe together. But they will come" (I'll see if I can find a link later).  The overwhelming feeling of them actually both being here after all our struggle is still incomprehensible. Even sometimes now when I say "Stanley and Lucy" it shocks me that they're real and they're now 6 and 4!

So, sitting back in that acupuncture chair, hearing the Chinese music (with its singing I don't understand but yet speaks so much to me) took me right back. The only thing that has changed in these 7 years is that the acupuncturist is slightly greyer, a few more lines on his face.

But then, so am I. Only today I looked at a Facebook photo of a friend of mine from university, someone how I haven't seen in years and who doesn't normally post many up close pictures and I thought "Gosh, you look like you're mid-thirties". To which, I realised, that so do I. That, actually, that's exactly how old we all are. Rarely these days do I get mistaken for someone much younger, as was often the case. But, if my life has taught me anything then it is to appreciate growing old. Wrinkles, grey hairs and chin hairs, who cares? Growing old is a privilege that many don't get. I would rather be plucking another hair from my chin amidst the chaos of toy pizzas and cups of toy mushroom and orange concoctions that Lucy has lovingly made for me, standing on a playmobil figure that Stanley has left on the floor than having a less-hairy chin and having all the freedom and time in the world to tackle said not-hairy-chin.  Who am I kidding? I'd have had hairs on my chin regardless!

So, what's next? Monday is our first appointment at the hospital for this round. There we will sign forms and go through the treatment plan and I imagine get prescriptions for the meds. I think I shall be starting on the Buserelin injections in about a week! I'm anxious yet eager to start. I can't really remember what injecting myself is like nor can I remember what the side effects of Buserelin are like! Not long until I am reminded I guess!