Saturday, 30 August 2014

If Not You...Who? If Not Now...When?

Clean your dishes!
If Not You...Who?
If Not Now...When?

Many years ago, in what seems like a galaxy far, far away, I worked at a family planning clinic and that sign was posted in the break room to discourage anyone from being that person who leaves the dishes in the sink, thinking that someone else will clean up after them. Our health educator was planning a lecture for the community entitled 'Talking to your Kids about Sex'. As I saw her designing flyers to distribute, I suggested she adopt the slogan from the break room. If Not You...Who? If Not Now...When?

It's starting to feel that way for us at this stage in the process, and I thought about that caption leading into beta day. This is embryo number 6, transfer number 4, trying for pregnancy number 3, in pursuit of baby number 1 (and only). My RE doesn't issue any bed rest restrictions, and even let me go to rowing class the next night. I tend to fall on the side that as exercise improves blood flow, it could favour implantation. I had the faintest bit of spotting and some light cramping two days post transfer, which gave me pause to wonder if it might indicate implantation.

The day before my beta draw, Husband called me while I was at work to ask for my social security number. Apparently, my grandmother left twenty percent of her savings to her grandchildren, so I'll have just over eight thousand dollars coming my way. My initial thought: that will cover two more transfers! Then my mind started analysing my reaction, is this just because I now calculate everything in terms of fertility treatments, or is this because I sense I will need to do more transfers? During my last 2WW, I had a premonition that my results were negative when I dropped a progesterone capsule on the floor and that proved to be accurate. Maybe I do have clairvoyant powers.

I go to a community lab for my betas for the anonymity. The lab was converted from an old 70s style house and it's really dingy and shabby, but it gets the job done. The phlebotomist reviewed my orders, "Will you have to do another HCG test?" she asked. "Well, it depends on today's result." I replied "I know, but sometimes they have you do two..." See answer above. It depends on today's results! "Well, hopefully you'll only have to do one!" she said with a cheery tone. Because THAT is what I wanted to hear! Maybe she was sensing something too, but I hope she was only implying, maybe the results will be where you need them to be and you won't have to come back to this hellhole of a lab! I wanted to burst into tears on the spot, but instead, I gave her a look that I sincerely hope conveyed; just stick the fucking needle in my vein and shut the fuck up!

My beta day routine is to have Misery leave a detailed message with my results on my voicemail and Husband and I listen to it together at the end of the day. I replayed her prior negative results messages in my mind throughout the day so it wouldn't feel as such a shock if I were to hear those words again. We decided to go to Cross-Fit after work, which delayed learning our fate for another hour. This means we're either Cross-Fit crazy, or just plain crazy. When we arrived back at our house, we showered, fed the cats, brought the recycling bins inside... just to stall a bit longer. Alas, it was time to face the music. I'm so sorry Jane, your beta was less than one. Go ahead and stop your meds... Yep, I have her negative results spiel down word for word, although she did add an extra "I'm really sorry" and she genuinely sounded disappointed.

What is it going to take? Perhaps the expectations were too high for this embryo. The stars just seemed to be too aligned. I took Angus to the vet two days after I started stimming, he died the night after we received our CCS results. My grandmother passed just a few days after my transfer. Cue new life! Hey! New life, this is your moment! How are you missing this neon, blinking sign for you? But seriously, what is it going to take? We have had good transfer of a good embryo into a good uterus (or so we thought). Alas, once again we regroup, re-analyze and re-attempt to solve this puzzle. Quoting Steven Gerrard, "We go on."

19 comments:

  1. So sorry. :-( You've tried so hard to do everything right, and it just hurts to hear the universe saying NO, again. Hugs.

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  2. I am so sorry Jane. This must be incredibly frustrating. I'll save you the platitudes and just say this effing sucks!

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  3. :( so disappointing Jane, I'm so sorry. I echo that this really fucking sucks!!!

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  4. Dang it!
    I'm so very sorry Jane!
    About everything that has happened lately.
    I was holding my breath praying for a good result. This really sucks!
    ((Hugs))

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  5. I'm so sorry Jane. What a disappointment. How you both are holding up OK. Sending you strength

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  6. Oh man I am so sorry. Thinking of you and sending strength

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  7. So sorry, Jane. Thinking of you.

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  8. I hate infertility. It fucking sucks.

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  9. I'm so sorry, Jane. This just sucks. Your quote seems very appropriate. I do hope one will make it through somehow, eventually.

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  10. No words that anyone hasn't said. Failure sucks. Infertility is the beast that seems to have no end. I know you will pull yourself up by the bootstraps and carry on with the same strength that you have before. Thinking of you this week.

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  11. So sorry to hear. Wishing you strength and peace while you pick up the pieces, again.

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  12. Fuck infertility and the unfairness of it all. I'm sorry, Jane.

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  13. Jane, my friend. I can feel your frustration and I feel frustrated for you. Your post brought me to tears because I felt so mad at the unfairness of it all. I was so confident that you were going to be pregnant that I was bracing myself for your post and trying to decide when to read it. I just don't understand. If it's possible to do everything right, you did everything right. I am so sorry. I am thinking of you and sending so much love.

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  14. Fuck, I am just so sorry to hear this. I really thought in my gut that that neon sign for new life was just screaming out to the universe that this was your time. I'll be thinking of you and sending my love from Denver.

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  15. I am so sorry to hear this... it just plain sucks. Know you are in my thoughts...

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  16. Well shit. I am so friggin sorry. My heart was racing reading this because I fully expected a different outcome. Also, screw the phlebotomist. She needs to learn a little more about her job. I know she only draws the blood, but she really should learn WHY people come back for a second beta for goodness sake.

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  17. Damn it. I hate this. I'm so sorry, Jane. Still rooting for you over here.

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