On what was supposed to be my twelfth day past ovulation, I got my period.
I had quietly suspected it was coming the other day when I wrote my last depressing post, and then started to get really weepy. Overwhelming sadness is always my first symptom. But I tried to push the thoughts aside as I reread what I had written. There was just no way. It was too early.
The truth is, having never ovulated before, I didn’t really know what to expect. The only other time I’ve come close to ovulation was my egg pick up in February, and I got my period ten days after that as well but I’d assumed the hormone injections and the artificial nature of the egg removal had caused abnormalities in my cycle.
But no, it turns out I have a ten or eleven day luteal phase. Of course I do! Just one more shitty thing wrong with my shitty body. I mean hey, whatever, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I’ll ever ovulate again, and even if I did ovulate it’s not like my Fallopian tubes are open to let the egg through. My luteal phase could last ten minutes and it wouldn’t make me any less likely to fall pregnant.
Now I’m just on the countdown to September IVF. I’ll give my body a few weeks rest to mimic a natural cycle then put myself back onto ralovera for seven days to start an artificial period. That’ll be my fifth period of the year! No wonder I’m so tired. I don’t think I’ve ever had my period more than three times in a year my entire life.
I didn’t cope very well at work yesterday. I had to rush off to the bathroom three times to cry. In the end I left work at about 2.30pm because I’d had enough of hiding in a toilet cubicle. I feel like I’m all cried out now, I feel much stronger and calmer today. I’m also feeling more confident about the next round of IVF, and hopeful that we will at least get to egg pick up.
I am incredibly disappointed that my miracle one-in-a-million pregnancy didn’t eventuate, but not really surprised. As Doug said to me yesterday, there’s absolutely nothing to indicate my left Fallopian tube is even still partially open. It’s been eight months since they last checked it, and it’s highly likely it’s closed again. This whole thing was probably never going to happen.
I feel bad ending this on such a low note. So that this post isn’t entirely doom and gloom, I will now tell an amusing anecdote…
Did I mention to you guys that my husband and I are selling our house? We live in a small, two bedroom house that I purchased on my own when I was 22 years old. It was the perfect size for me, and close to the city. When Doug moved in three and a half years ago he brought with him duplicates of everything I own. We suddenly had two sofas, two dining tables, two beds, two outdoor settings etc. He also brought along a vast assortment of fitness crap (for want of a better word) that for some reason found a place right at the front door for all our visitors to admire.
“Hello, welcome to my house, don’t trip on the weights bench, do be sure to navigate around the cross trainer, and mind the treadmill!”
Given our house is clearly too small for us, we decided to take the big mortgage plunge a little earlier than originally intended and find a bigger (read: more expensive) house. It will be something we have to do in the future anyway, because I’m not raising my children in this shoe box, and I don’t plan on moving to a new house when I’m six months pregnant or toting a newborn. Now is really the perfect time to do this.
A little while ago we invited several different real estate agents over to give us appraisals, talk about the value of our property and discuss different marketing strategies. We ended up going with a really great young agent who is super enthusiastic and I’m confident she will get the job done. But one of the other agents said something to me which I just can’t seem to shake.
This agent was probably in her late forties; a well dressed larger lady who didn’t really seem too keen on selling our house, or any house. I think she was in the wrong profession because all she kept doing was complaining about how much she hated her job. Not the best sales pitch! After giving her a tour of the house we were sitting at our dining table going through some marketing strategies when Doug got up to take a phone call and the agent suddenly looked over at me.
“So you’re selling this house because you’re in the family way?” she asked.
There is nothing in our house to indicate we’re starting a family. No crib sitting in a box in the corner, no ultrasound photos stuck to the fridge, nothing. And it’s not like we have a big flashing neon light above the front door that says ‘IVF lady inside…enter at your own risk!’
“No?” I replied, perplexed. “We’re just looking to move to a bigger place closer to our family.”
“Free babysitting?” she asked, winking at me.
Yes that’s right, she was winking at me. As if this was all a big conspiracy.
“No.” I said, more firmly this time. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Ok, I understand,” she said. “Let’s pretend I never mentioned anything.”
I was extremely thankful that she had decided to drop the stupid subject, and hopeful that the conversation could move back to marketing strategies. Not that I was going to hire her to sell our house after all that…
“I know it’s bad luck to talk about your baby while you’re in the first trimester so I understand why you’d want to keep it quiet.” she added as if she couldn’t help herself.
Before I could say anything else Doug sat back down at the table. Not wanting to upset him, I quickly steered the conversation back to selling the house. I was in the middle of an IVF cycle and didn’t need the added stress of seeing my husband throw a real estate agent out onto the front lawn.
After that the meeting couldn’t end soon enough. Not only had she accused me of being secretly pregnant and told us she hated her job, she also told us she thought our house was worth $50,000 less than it actually is and refused to market it for a reasonable price. She was possibly the worst real estate agent in history.
As we were showing her to the front door, she took a step outside then turned back, leaned in super uncomfortably close to my right ear and whispered “congratulations on the baby” before walking away.
“What did she just say to you?” Doug asked.
“She said she liked my earrings.” I lied, pulling him back inside and closing the front door.
I still can’t believe that she refused to accept I wasn’t pregnant. Going through IVF, and particularly going through ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, I’ve become a little swollen around the middle and a few people have mistakenly thought I was pregnant. But when I’ve corrected them, they’ve always had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed. Never mind the fact you should never ask someone if they’re pregnant, this lady didn’t bother asking she just forced a pregnancy upon me.
What’s your worst experience with this? I know we’ve all been there at some stage. Do you get hurt when people think you’re pregnant, or simply laugh it off?
(I think that was a pretty good effort to lighten the mood! Snaps for me!)