CD30 / 14DPO / 9DPT of ICSI #4

I had vowed not to POAS this week, however something got the better of me yesterday and I found an old IC HPT under the bathroom sink and decided to test. 

Low and behold, it was .....

BFN

Shock. Horror. How could that be? I have all the pregnancy symptoms. HAHAHA!! As a veteran of this IVF procedure, you'd think I'd remind myself daily that these symptoms are also AF.

I jumped in the shower and tried really hard not to cry. The rest of my day was a write off - I was miserable and didn't want to talk to anyone.

I was on the verge of a mini breakdown, especially after DH and BF screamed at me for testing so early. But I don't think it was early. 85% of women discover a BFP at 13DPO. Anyway, lesson learned and I won't be testing again - I intend to wait for my beta test on Friday. 

In the meantime, the symptoms continue:

• Sooooo tired
• AF cramps
• Sharp jabbing pain on the left side
• Slight bloating
• Sore boobs
• Insomnia
• Wake up hot
• Nausea in the morning - coffee is a struggle
• Blocked sinus

I'm telling myself today to have FAITH, have HOPE and to BELIEVE this can happen. I will see a BFP one day.

Good-Bye Doubt

Today is day 7 of my 4th cycle. Currently injecting 300 units of Puregon and I start Orgalutran injections tomorrow. 

I'm also eating pizza for lunch? Just in case you were wondering.

Feeling a little weird today, which for me is strange, because I'm normally a ball of positive vibes and feelin the love kinda gal. But my old foe 'doubt' has started creeping in and I'm trying hard to find a way to banish 'doubt'.

How on earth do say goodbye to old doubts in order to allow new beliefs to enter? I realise our previous cycles failed to work for a number of reasons, but this time should be different! This time we'll be using great swimmers and my DHEA is plumping up my eggs. Fab combination and hopefully a winning combination. 

Anyway, I decided to visit an old support group on EB last week and it dawned on me that everyone had graduated to parenthood ... but me. Woe me. I'm not jealous and I don't hold any envy. I'm just sad the journey is taking up our precious parenthood time. There are so many 'what if' type questions and I'm tired of trying to answer them.

Now is the time for me to say..... "GOOD BYE Doubt". 

Arrivederci, Adios, Sayonara

And may I welcome ..... Hope, Belief, Faith

Knowing what I know now

Knowing what I know now, I wish we had done this sooner. Two and a half years and it’s still a living hell. It’s been invasive; it’s been confusing. I’m afraid and I’m sad. I feel hopeless, afraid and guilty all at the same time. No one understands the daily struggle and I fear my own reaction to these struggles. Knowing what I know now, we should have done this sooner.

Most of all I feel unsettled and angry. My life constantly feels on hold. It’s impossible to make a decision about my future. I simply cannot make a decision about holidays, career, education courses, moving house, having a dog or eating out. The more I try and struggle with infertility, the less control I have. The more questions you ask, the more you struggle. Should I try the new expensive fertility drug? Should I undergo further expensive testing? Should we attempt adoption? It’s unsettling to have no guarantees.

I’m angry at my body for betraying me and I’m angry at my husbands body for betraying him. Our anger is easily misdirected at times. We fight. We argue. We never seem to be on the same page in this infertile journey at the same time. It tears us apart some days but we’re closer than ever because of it. My anger gets directed at my family. My younger brother has a son. My mum use to tell me when I was younger that she was very fertile and surely I would be too. What a lie! It makes me sad to see my parents show off their grandson. Being the oldest sibling, wasn’t I entitled to bare the first grandchild for them?

I’m angry at my Doctor because she controls our future and charges us for it. My doctor rips me of my dignity and invades my privacy. She also inflicts pain on me. This is humiliating. My husband and I make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills and our health insurance company barely provides anything in return.

Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about our quest for parenthood. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone tells you to relax. Everyone seems to say too much.

Someone once old me ‘It’s not the journey, but the destination’. But what if this is wrong? Maybe in my situation “It’s not the destination, but the journey’. Today I begin a new journey. Today I seek my STORK.

One day my struggle with infertility will cease. It will never disappear but it will change me. I yearn for the day I’m not controlled by this struggle but I’ve accepted I cannot return to the person I once was. When it does cease I will be left with a bucket load of empathy.

Our first failure

The paper work is filled in. We’ve met with the nurse and cycle coordinator. It’s all systems go. Just waiting for AF to show up. Feels strange waiting for AF to show up. I normally hate her arrivals but this time I want her to arrive on time.

Low and behold, AF arrives two days early. Woot! I was expecting my body to betray me and delay her arrival. So happy to begin the injections and get this process rolling. DH hates needles so it’s up to me each morning to jab myself in the stomach. Quick, sharp and over in seconds.

First scan reveals I have 2 follies on my left ovary and 3 on the right. Kind of low but the technician isn’t too concerned.

Three days later and the result is still the same. Two on the left and 3 on the right. Boo. The measurements are OK for collection so I’m in theatre three days later. The whole surgery experience is bloody scary. I opt for light sedation so I can watch my eggs being collected on the plasma screen. Yes, there is a plasma in the theatre! DH is sitting beside me squeezing my hand for reassurance. Half way through the surgery, I lose consciousness and black out. Yikes! Apparently I’m allergic to the sedation. The first words to pass my lips is “How many eggs did you collect?”.

FS gives me a sad look, takes my hand and tells me only 1 egg was collected.

The deepest sadness I’ve ever experienced washes over me. I begin to howl and DH tries to comfort me. One egg! One lousy egg! Hell, I can produce one egg every month without torturing my body with injections and drugs.

The following day my FS calls us with the news – the egg didn’t fertilise. Guttered. Devastated. Wasted. Inconsolable. Heartbroken.