FLASHBACK: I wrote this post without the knowledge of if this cycle worked or not. I wanted to get all of my thoughts down while everything was happening rather than in retrospect where my position might be colored by a positive or negative pregnancy test.
I am now five days past our transfer date. I really hate to say this, but everything in my mind and body tells me that it is very unlikely that this worked. I have zero symptoms other than what I assume are side effects from all of the hormones I am taking. But I’m not bloated. I have not felt any credible cramping. Nothing. I am not sleeping more. In fact, I got terrible sleep last night.
A few days ago, we got our last fertility report. The embryologist let us know that out of the 15 mature fertilized eggs that seemed to be doing quite well on Day 3…none were suitable for freeze. NONE. L and I were gutted, to say the least. Does this mean I have bad eggs? Shit. Then we found out that the two good blasts that we transferred were not so wonderful after all. They got a rating of 3.5 out of a possible 5. Something about a cluster of cells that wasn’t exactly where it needed to be. So, our fantastic cycle that we were sure had at least a 60% chance of working…in actuality, we have about a 42% chance, according to the embryologist. L was relaying all of this information to me, because he was the one who spoke with the doctor on the phone. Poor guy then had to let me know all of this news while on a work break, and I sat frantic on the other end of the line.
I just knew this process was going to let us down at some point. Everything was moving along too smoothly. It sounds horrible for me to say that, but it’s how I feel.
I started retracing all of the events of transfer day. Our doctor seemed happy, almost giddy. I thought it was because he was pleased with the results of our cycle. Now I think it was because he was set to go on vacation later that day, and was probably looking forward to that. I think about how he kept saying everything looked “good”. In the academic world, good = B; excellent or perfect = A. In my valium induced haze, I somehow mistook good to mean A quality. Stupid me. Good has never sounded like a shittier way to say, “not great.” I guess one of us should have asked him what “good” meant. We should have inquired about the grading of our two little blasts. But, we didn’t. We were naive, and just so happy that we had made it to transfer day.
Now five days removed, I feel so distanced from this process. I’ve been so upset ever since hearing 42% chance, B quality blasts, and zero frozen embies. I guess I feel like a failure all over again. The frozen embies were supposed to be our insurance policy against feeling TOO awful if this cycle fails. I had it all planned in my mind that even if this didn’t work the first time, we would have at least one or two attempts with some frozens.
Now it’s like a free fall. A negative pregnancy test will put us all the way back to day 1. Not Day 1 of this cycle, but the Day 1 when L and I first looked at each other and said, “Let’s try for a baby.” On that day three years ago, we could have never fathomed what that decision would do to us; how it would transform us. We could have never imagined that the hill we might have to climb to get pregnant was actually a mountain with an army of guards at its gates shooting arrows at us telling us we don’t have what it takes to make it to the top.
We just had no idea.
So if this cycle fails, we are back to Day 1. But, a day 1 where we are 3 years older. A lot poorer. A lot sadder. And a lot less hopeful.
This is what infertility does to people. It dangles the carrot of success in their faces, and then rips their fucking hearts out. Why? Well, for no better reason than because it can.
A few days after I wrote this post, I took the first of two First Response Pregnancy tests. Both were negative. My gut feeling was correct. I was not pregnant.