Our solo embryo, Francine, did not make it. I am not pregnant. Our new year’s IVF failed. It only makes me sadder knowing that Francine implanted (I tested out my trigger shot last weekend, meaning I got negative home pregnancy tests (HPTs) and then had about 3 very faint positive tests around Tuesday/Wednesday). Francine had implanted and some hCG was produced, but that was that. By Thursday all tests were negative and Friday’s beta confirmed that we were done.
The LP is furious with the Universe. And the fertility clinic because they couldn’t even propose a follow-up conference with our RE until late next month. As the LP put it, “They’ve got the money, right? What difference is it to them now?” It is tough to disagree with that logic.
I’ve shed a lot of tears waiting for the phone call I knew was coming. I expect more will fall and I won’t stop them. I plan to drink heaps of red wine this weekend and cuddle our Miracle Baby and the LP. And have a super freakin’ hot bath. And exercise until everything hurts (both of which have been no-no’s since we started IVF). Pretty crappy consolation prizes.
The LP and I embarked on the journey of trying to conceive in 2009, when I had lots of testing done and we got counseling and so on. We got married in early 2010 and began trying immediately after. I got pregnant for the first time in late 2010 (lost that in 2011, along with pregnancy #2). Miracle Baby was pregnancy #3. Around this time last year I was ready to try again. We tried actively during three cycles last year and we got pregnant each time. Each time I miscarried, either before or after seeing baby’s heartbeat on ultrasound. We decided to do IVF in the hope that we might get lucky and maybe avoid more miscarriages while hoping to catch that elusive healthy egg.
So much for that idea.
I could not avoid pointing out the irony to the LP – the only time in our four cycles of trying to get pregnant in the last year that we didn’t get and stay pregnant for a while. Of course, it’s also the only time we didn’t have a miscarriage. Thanks for that, IVF. Up yours, IVF. You suck.
(In case you’re wondering “why only four cycles?”, the rest of the year was eaten up by pregnancies, miscarriages, waiting to heal, waiting for surgery, waiting to recover from surgery and for hCG levels to drop, waiting for IVF, IVF and the two-week wait that followed).
Last year I connected with the spirit of a baby that I believe is meant to be our child (I’ve written about this in earlier posts). I struggle to reconcile my heartfelt belief that it is part of my destiny to raise a child that embodies this spirit with my befuddlement at how – or at what cost (and I’m not even talking money here) – that dream could possibly become a reality. I want to be hopeful, but today is not the day. Today is a day for a big glass of a fat, meaty red and a pity/rage-against-the-Universe party.
So much for detachment to outcome.
I want (and wanted if this IVF didn’t work, even before we tried it) to move on to donor eggs. The LP does not want this. I thought our IVF experience if unsuccessful might change his mind or soften his resistance. It has not.
So much for that idea, too.
My EFT teacher/coach has this completely admirable way of responding to sudden changes of plans. She says she cannot wait to find out what it is that she is meant to be doing instead of what was originally planned (because she accepts the change as how things were meant to be and something interesting waiting just around the corner to take the place of the original plans). I wish I could see this IVF failure in such a positive light.
But Mary Poppins I am not (and I’m not saying my EFT coach is not real or legit – I’m sure she has crap days in which it’s not so easy to be positive too). Today is not the day. Today just plain sucked. And I bet there will be a few more days like today before I can pull my head out of the darkness and see this or the coming non-IVF cycles as an opportunity.
I have acupuncture on Monday and I am looking forward to that. I might also book another appointment with the hypnotherapist who tried to help me have hope during our last pregnancy, when I was so afraid baby was not alive (before I was sadly proven correct). But all of that is for next week, when the pity/rage party is over.
In the meantime, who’s up for a glass?