So after my downhill plummet after the EPU and several days of recovery on the couch, transfer day arrived. We had been anxiously calling the clinic each day to check on the progress of our 9 embryos and unbelievably all had survived. Then just before we were ready to leave L started spotting. Total panic – we rang the clinic and nervously waited to hear the verdict. After about an hour of stressing, the clinic called to say that L should take an extra progynova tablet and to come in as planned., and our FS would make a decision once he saw us. So we headed for L’s accupunture appointment and I paced the tiny waiting room.
Once at the clinic L was prepped for transfer and we were still not sure if it was actually going ahead. But our FS was quietly confident that it wouldn’t be a problem and I held L’s hand while one of my AA grade embryos was carefully transfer into her. After the mandatory rest period (for her) and more pacing (for me) we headed back to the accupunturist for the second appointment of the day. The stress of the day could’ve ended there.
For some reason I went into a downward spiral after the transfer. The last update we’d had prior to arriving at the clinic was that all our 9 embryos were going strong. However in the hours between that phone conversation and going for transfer, we only ended up with 3 blastocysts. With the added stress of L spotting I just freaked out. I was convinced that everything was going wrong and we would ended up with our usual story – BFN cycle and no frozen embryos in the freezer. I quietly panicked and tried to keep my sense of despair to myself – only to start a vicious arguement with L a couple of hours later – over the damn coffee table of all things! We screamed and shouted and behaved badly to each other (mainly me to her of course) and then I cried my eyes out. Twice in a week. Suddenly my “I don’t cry arguement” is sounding a little hollow.
Somehow we found our way back to each other. And after feeling terribly guilty and anxious that I had caused so much stress in possibly the first few hours of my offsprings life, I suddenly felt hopeful. Hopeful. Such a little word but the power of that one word is huge. I hadn’t allowed myself to be truly hopeful about a cycle since L’s first pregnancy ended two and a half years ago. Since then I have hovered somewhere between sad, nervous, anxious, bored, frustrated, angry, depressed and bitter. The longer the ttc journey was taking, the worse my mental health was suffering.
We had put much thought into our journey, we’d planned and replanned, and researched and communicated and worked and strengthened relationships between the three of us and prepared for our baby. Yet that was the one thing we couldn’t seem to get, despite our efforts. When we first started planning to have a baby, we didn’t know any lesbians having children. Three years later we seemed to be the only ones without a child, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take watching everyone else get what we so desperately wanted. I was turning into someone I didn’t even like very much.
But there is always hope right?