Twelve days of injections.
I had my second scan this morning, and my ovaries haven’t done a single thing since last week. I still have that one follicle on my left ovary, and it’s still measuring 9mm. It hasn’t grown even one millimetre. The look on Doctor B’s face told me everything I need to know. There will be no egg pick-up. This will be a failed cycle.
We are pulling me off the orgalutran, because there’s no point putting me through the awful burning pain of those injections if there’s no ovulation to even suppress. But I’m going to keep stimming with 100iu of Puregon for another five days.
I’m going back Saturday morning at 7am for one last scan. We’re going to just give my ovaries one last chance. But Doctor B said given I’ve been stimming for twelve days and absolutely nothing has happened, she is extremely doubtful there will be any change. I love getting up super early on Saturday mornings to be delivered bad news!
I need to think about this realistically. This cycle is going to be a failure. And then what? Doctor B wants me to rest for a few months. She wants my body to recover a little from all the treatment over the past six months. This sounds like a horrid plan to me. I want to go back to back and start injections again as soon as I get my period. I want to keep going.
I want to scream at her until I lose my voice. Inject me every day for the rest of my life if you have to. I don’t want to wait again. I don’t want more months to lapse. I don’t want another rest. I don’t care if more hormone injections and steroids wipe my foggy memory completely clean. Just let me keep going. Please? Please?
I’m trying very hard not to be bitter. I’m trying very hard to keep calm. I kept having this warm and fuzzy recurrent thought that I was going to be pregnant when my sister-in-law Jess has her baby in early October. I was going to be pregnant and that was going to take the edge off my pain. The insensitivity shown by Doug’s family, the heartache of losing my last pregnancy, the pitiful feeling that I’m going to be barren and childless for the rest of my life…none of it would matter.
We’d go up to the hospital to meet our new niece and offer our congratulations. They’d pass me the baby, all new and squishy, and I’d look down at her and smile and think You’ll have a new little cousin soon. Your aunty is going to be a mummy soon. We’re all going to be great friends. Life is good.
But instead, that dream is now almost certainly an impossibility. Instead I’ll go up to that hospital, I’ll walk down the hall of the maternity ward and drink in the happy, exhausted new mums and crying babies, I’ll hug my sister-in-law, they’ll pass me my new niece, and I’ll look down at her and just wish a sink hole could open up beneath my feet and swallow me. Your mummy and daddy started trying for a baby a year after we did. Your mummy and daddy got pregnant straight away. You thrived in your mummy’s womb, but my little one didn’t make it. Your mummy and daddy now get to hold you and kiss you and love you and cherish you. Your aunty and uncle are still childless and miserable.
Resting for another few months before we begin another cycle will also mean I’ll now be at least another year old before I give birth to a baby. I’ll be 28. Big deal, I hear you say. But I’ve had two different specialist doctors tell me I’ll need a pelvic clearance around my 30th birthday. No more ovaries, no more uterus, no more anything.
Every minute, every hour, every day, I am hurtling so fast towards my third decade. Will I get a child at all? If I get one, will there be any chance for me to try for a second? Will my clock run down? Will I miss out on something that seemingly comes so easily to everyone around me?
Doctor B squeezed my arm this morning and smiled at me, almost as if she could read my mind. “You’ll be a mum, Miss Sadie.” she said.
Will I? I don’t know.
Tomorrow morning I’m going to see an infertility counselor for the first time. It’s something I should have done over a year ago, but for some reason I’ve been too afraid. Of what? I’m not so sure. Maybe admitting to someone other than Doug and my mother that I’m not strong enough to cope on my own. I admitted those things to my mother-in-law and look where that got me. Am I really ready to admit these things to another person?
I think in the end it’ll work out for the best. This counselor will understand my feelings, but not judge me for feeling them. Plus, they’ll never be able to throw them in my face or hold them against me at family dinners.
Doug is away most of this week. He’s on business until Thursday then he was supposed to join his mates on a boys football weekend away from Friday through Monday. He’s now coming home to me on Saturday midday, so I won’t have to be alone after I’m given the inevitable news that this cycle has failed. I love him dearly for sacrificing his weekend away, which I know he’s been looking forward to since it was planned in February. It makes me feel guilty that my wretched body is ruining both our fun.
Today, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Today, I am no closer to achieving my dreams. I need to keep reminding myself that there’s always tomorrow, though it’s easier said than done.