Archive | February 2014

Dorothy Mantooth and my husband are both saints

Just fair warning…this blog post is kinda sweary. Okay, very sweary.

Why? Because this last fortnight has been absolutely fucking awful. One of the worst periods of my life. Just really, really bad.

In fact, you might want to skip this post if you don’t want to read an extremely long, angry and rambling diatribe from a disturbed young woman.

My problems are mainly down to this new drug I’m taking – ethinyloestradiol. It’s the medication we’re using to plump up my uterus lining in preparation for my FET. Before my last FET we used progynova and that medication did the job without causing me massive dramas. But ethinyloestradiol appears to be my kryptonite. It is the devil’s drug. The devil’s drug I tell you!

First of all the nausea is ridiculously bad. I couldn’t really keep any food down for the first couple of days, but after that my body acclimated somewhat and the vomiting stopped. But the nausea has certainly persisted.

It is particularly bad when I’m driving, sort of like bad motion sickness. It means I’ve been late for work a whole bunch of times the past fortnight because the nausea overwhelmed me and I had to pull over onto the side of the road until I could swallow and breathe normally.

When I mentioned to my doctor that the nausea was really bad on this drug she looked at me like I was some sort of moron and told me that if I couldn’t handle the nausea caused by estrogren maybe I shouldn’t be trying to get pregnant, because when you’re pregnant, you get nauseous a lot.

That comment made me angry. Really fucking angry. Because I’m not an idiot. I am aware that pregnant women experience nausea. Also because I am not forking out my entire life savings in an effort to get pregnant, I am forking out my life savings in an effort to have a child. Notice the subtle difference there? Pregnancy is a means to children.

I know pregnancy can be shitty. I know you can be sick a lot. But I don’t care. I honestly don’t! If I have to vomit everything I eat for the next nine months I do not care.

And the nausea you experience during pregnancy is a little different to the nausea you experience because of a medication. It says on the damn pill bottle to tell your doctor if you have persistent symptoms. So why is it a problem that I mentioned my persistent symptom to her?

I mean honestly I took her comment as a subversive threat. I feel like she does this a lot now. I tell her about a problem I’m experiencing, she tells me how life is much harder when you’re pregnant/a mother and then looks at me weird and kind of suggests maybe I shouldn’t be doing IVF.

And I take it as a threat because I feel like she is going to cancel my cycle due to my honesty in describing my physical and emotional responses to IVF. Like OH I’M SORRY I AM VOMITING IN THE FRONT SEAT OF MY CAR LET’S MAKE THAT MY FAULT AND DENY ME CHILDREN BECAUSE I SIMPLY MENTIONED IT TO YOU.

And plus, we all know how she feels about people who give up on IVF (in case you missed the memo, she thinks they’re not cut out to be parents in the first place) so I feel like when she questions me she is not only saying I can’t handle IVF or pregnancy, she is also calling me a bad parent. And that is not ok. How dare she question my hypothetical future parenting skills or ability to be a mother because I confessed I’m struggling on a new medication. What kind of doctor would do such a thing?

The second major problem with ethinyloestradiol are the mood swings I am experiencing. You may have already guessed that from reading this post…

These mood swings are on a whole other level to what I’m used to. It is unlike anything I’ve ever gone through before. It started about 24 hours after I went onto the medication. I started crying all the time. I was absolutely distraught and nothing could cheer me up.

Then the next day, I was angry. Super angry. I suddenly hated my husband, didn’t want him near me and didn’t want him to look at me or touch me or breathe in the vicinity of where I was standing. I don’t even know what he did to trigger such a reaction. He would reach out to me and I would scream at him to go away. It caused me to become angrier and angrier, and my husband to oddly become clingier and clingier.

The more I screamed at him to leave me alone, the more he insisted on following me around the house like a sad little puppy, constantly asking me why I was upset with him and how he could make it better. It was a fucking nightmare. I almost packed my bags and went to stay at my parents house just to get away from him.

My moods started rapidly swinging back and forth. One minute I was happy and normal, the next minute I was weeping, and then I was looking at my husband like maybe I wanted to scalp him with a kitchen knife.

Not only was it hard for my husband to cope with this, it’s also been devastating for me. I don’t want to behave how I’m behaving. I don’t want to make him upset or push him away. And I don’t want to feel like this all the time because it’s exhausting and maddening.

We looked up the common symptoms of ethinyloestradiol and surprise surprise! Common side effects include depression, anxiety and rapid mood cycling. Doug promised to be understanding, and just keep on loving me the best way he knew how. But after about a week his resolve started wearing thin. He started biting back when I snapped at him, and we started arguing constantly.

When I mentioned to Doctor Holiday that I’m having these awful mood swings she told me that ethinyloestradiol doesn’t cause any such problem. She suggested if I am having mood swings I have a mental health issue, not a drug side-effect. She said I need to go and see a counsellor to get my mental health issues rectified because whilst IVF is hard, being a parent is much harder and if I can’t cope with this I won’t cope with being a mother.

Do you see what I mean about the threats?? I mean come on! Stop subversively insulting me every time I admit to experiencing an emotion or symptom.

To make matters worse, the doctor said that to me in front of my husband. So suddenly he’s thinking that I’ve just been acting like a bitch for no good reason, and that makes me a bad wife for treating him in such a way. Like hey Doctor Holiday, thanks for making my hard life HEAPS harder.

I showed him all of the evidence that proves the doctor was wrong, and I think he mostly believed me when I said that I’m honestly not choosing to behave like this. But I know there’s doubt in his mind. So that’s great.

Then Doug started getting really depressed as well. He told me he knew it wasn’t my fault, but this whole thing is killing him. He said infertility isn’t like another illness that you can fight and overcome. With infertility you either win or you lose, and you don’t know it’s beaten you until you’re completely driven into the ground. He said he can’t do any more IVF. He can’t mentally or emotionally handle the failures, he can’t stand idly by and watch me get sick and depressed, and we can’t afford it because we have no money left. But then he said he can’t imagine living a life without children. It’s his number one wish in life to be a dad, and he just can’t live a childless life.

Then, the following evening, he casually mentioned that he had been speaking to his mother on the phone, and they had joked about how there should be a compulsory physical examination before couples enter into a long-term relationship. I know that his mother hates me, and she has expressed in the past that he would be better off without me, but never did I ever expect him to even make a joke about such a thing. My own husband was “light-heartedly” implying that had he known I was infertile right at the start, he would never have married me.

After that pretty much all hell broke loose. I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted to divorce him. I didn’t want to be with someone who would say such horrible things about me, and also because I didn’t want him to live a childless life. I didn’t want him to hate me or blame me for causing him to be stuck in a situation he didn’t want to be in. I said positively awful things to him. I suggested he wouldn’t even be upset if I left him, because he doesn’t really love me anyway. I told him that he would have a new girlfriend straight away and he wouldn’t miss me or think about me at all.

Once again, he bit back and started accusing me of clearly not wanting to be with him either if it was so easy for me to suggest we split up.

I pointed out that leaving him would be a huge personal blow for me because there’s no way I’ll have time to meet another man, get him to see past my massive medical problems, move in together, get married, and then attempt IVF before my 30th birthday (around the time I’m due to have a hysterectomy). Therefore, I was making a huge sacrifice and he was not because he could go out and get any old bitch knocked up and have ten thousand children.

He then accused me of not seeing him as a husband or lover, and only seeing him as a sperm donor to achieve my goal of having children. He shouted that I was clearly only staying with him to use him for his sperm, and not because I actually wanted to be with him.

Do you see what I mean when I say this past fortnight has been hard? We completely hit rock bottom as a couple. It’s a place we’ve never been before.

We continued sleeping in the same bed, but were hardly talking to each other and not touching each other at all. It got to the point where his leg would accidentally brush up against mine as he rolled over in his sleep and I would grunt and roughly push him away like he had supremely offended me.

A couple of days ago we started talking through our issues, and we are doing okay now. There’s still tension there, and I know a big part of that is the fact I’m still on this awful fucking ethinyloestradiol.

In my good moments we can laugh again now, and we snuggle up on the couch in the evenings to watch television. I know that we love each other very deeply, and we’re both going through something awful at the moment. We just have to try our hardest to stick together.

We’ve never been a couple who fought much before, so this is something new and hard for us. I have to hope we can make it through to the other side together, and stronger. He is honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to me and now I’m scared I’m going to lose him too. I couldn’t cope with losing him and my chance to have children at the same time.

The only good news is that the ethinyloestradiol is doing it’s job. I had a scan yesterday and my uterus lining is now measuring 9.6mm triple which is great news. I have started progesterone twice a day, and my FET is set for Wednesday.

I am starting to become really nervous already, and it’s only Friday afternoon. Jelly is our only embryo. If he doesn’t survive the thaw, or doesn’t expand properly, we have nothing else. The whole FET has been for nothing and we don’t get any of our money back. I have five more whole days to wait! I don’t know how I’m going to make it through.

If you have read this entire post I thank you sincerely. And please don’t judge me!

We can’t have a good day every day and I think sometimes it’s helpful to admit that you aren’t strong or good all the time.We all have moments of weakness when times are tough, and I just shared my weakness with the entire internet! I think that takes guts. Am I right or am I right? I’m so right.

Sadie xx


Miss Not-So-Average

On Monday we attended our post-IVF follow up appointment with Doctor Holiday, who had just returned from her 12000th vacation the previous Friday. It’s what we in the biz (if being infertile is a biz) refer to as the WTF appointment.

Because….WTF? Why did my cycle fail? Why is this clinic so crappy? What are you going to do about it? When do I get my baby? You get the gist.

Normally I attend these clinic appointments alone because Doug has a busy job, but this time he insisted on coming along. Mainly because he was no longer prepared to let this doctor waste our time and our money, and he knows I’m too passive to actually stand up for myself most of the time when it comes to medical professionals.

We went into this appointment with an understanding that we will not be undertaking any further cycles of IVF with this doctor. We have absolutely had enough of her and her bullshit. It’s sad really, because she is one of the top rated IVF doctors in our state and came highly recommended. We were told she was the best of the best.

We have actually spoken to a clinic interstate in the past week. It is one of the top 3 IVF clinics in the world. Yes, the whole world. Their success rate in my age group is 43% higher than the average of all other Australian and New Zealand clinics combined. Those are some pretty decent odds, hey?

We’ve already been matched with a doctor who would suit our needs – a doctor whose areas of speciality are genetic problems, PCOS, and repeated IVF failures. And he has no qualms dealing with interstate patients, and will even do some of the initial consults via skype. It sounds perfect for us. Only problem is, we’ll need to be flying back and forth for procedures because it’s too far to drive. That means there will be added expenses of flights and hotels wrapped up with this clinic.

We have done some serious number crunching this past week and realised that our life savings are almost completely spent. Multiple fertility surgeries and IVF cycles will do horrible things to your bank account.

But we’ve also realised that paying for one or two cycles at this fancy clinic is probably going to cost around the same as multiple failed cycles here in Melbourne with our current doctor. And if we go to the clinic interstate and succeed in one or two cycles, we’ll have our baby a whole lot quicker than if it takes another six cycles up here. Let’s not even factor in how fat and pimply I will be in six cycles time. I’ll be so sick and tired and grumpy. I’d much prefer to get our cycles over and done with now. Get what I’m saying?

Despite all this, we went to see Doctor Holiday for a couple of reasons. Firstly, we wanted closure on our 5th failed cycle (4 failed IVF cycles plus a failed FET equals 5 failed cycles in my book). We wanted her opinion on where we had gone wrong. Secondly, we wanted genetic testing done and figured it would be just as easy for this doctor to order it for us. That way when we see the new doctor (let’s call him Doctor Fancy-Pants) we’ll be able to already provide that information.

Thirdly, and most importantly, we still have one embryo on ice at this clinic. Our little day 6 low quality blastocyst, Jelly. We have a ‘no family member gets left behind’ policy in our household and we aren’t going to move to an interstate clinic and leave Jelly all on his own. So we decided we would try to thaw Jelly and go for an FET cycle before we make our first appointment with Doctor Fancy-Pants.

And now that my rambling introduction is over, let me get back to the actual appointment because I know that’s why you’re all reading this blog post…

“So Sadie,” Doctor Holiday started. “How did the last cycle go?”

“Bad.” I said bluntly.

“No? Not actually bad?” she asked, raising her brow.

“Yes.” I replied. “Actually bad. We didn’t get pregnant and we didn’t get any frozen embryos. No positive outcomes whatsoever.”

Doctor Holiday kept sort of smirking at me after that. Like she was surprised the cycle hadn’t worked, and also surprised that I was being less friendly than normal, and her reaction was to smirk so that the situation was less uncomfortable for her.

We all sat down and she reviewed all of the notes in my file that related to my last cycle. She analysed the embryologists notes regarding our embryo development and after a while stated that the cycle had quite clearly failed because of an egg problem. I mean geez talk about a slap in the face. I understood the news was coming my way, but didn’t expect her to put it quite so harshly.

“So if it’s an egg problem you should fix the eggs.” Doug said, seemingly pleased to have contributed something so useful to the conversation.

My heart went out to my poor husband in that moment. I knew he had about three more seconds of ignorant bliss, before the doctor broke the bad news to him.

“Well actually we can’t fix eggs.” Doctor Holiday explained. “We can work with endo, blocked tubes, PCOS, poor sperm quality, pretty much everything. But we really don’t know anything about poor egg quality and we don’t know how to fix it.”

I expected a whole range of emotions to cross Doug’s face as the doctor’s words sunk in. Instead, I saw recognition in his eyes and then his entire face went blank. He had retreated right in front of me.

“Before we go any further I think I need to be tested for genetic problems.” I said, turning back to the doctor. “How do we do that?”

“I completely agree. We need to do genetic tests.” Doctor Holiday nodded. “Do you know if your previous IVF clinic carried out the tests? Best to check before we order the tests again because they’re very expensive.”

The doctor then made a phone call to the pathology lab, and it was confirmed that I had karotype testing done in 2012, which was news to me. I mean honestly I had so many tests done in 2012 I couldn’t even describe half of them. Plus, the cycles of IVF I’ve subsequently undergone have pretty much killed my memory. Everything upstairs in the old noggin is a little hazy now.

“What did the tests say?” I asked in surprise. “Can I get a copy of the results? What exactly did they test for?”

“Oh they would have done carrier testing.” the doctor said dismissively. “And if no one mentioned it to you two years ago then I’m sure the tests are fine so we won’t even bother looking at the results. If there was a problem with your genes they would have mentioned it.”

And that was it. I wasn’t even given a copy of the results. I have no idea what the tests were for. Was I tested for the MTHFR gene mutation? Was I tested for other genetic mutations? I have no fricken clue, and apparently I never will.

The doctor did order the same tests for Doug though, just to make sure he isn’t a carrier of anything untoward either. I looked at his pathology request form and all it says is “karotype testing – abnormal embryo development” so that doesn’t shed any light for me. Can anyone who has had these tests done, or is a carrier of something that affects fertility tell me how and what the process was? I really shouldn’t have to ask this question on the internet. It’s a shame my doctor isn’t more forthcoming with information.

After we had discussed the tests, Doctor Holiday started saying some very odd things.

She told us that she had just recently been to a conference where IVF doctors from all around the world discussed whether or not IVF is actually working as it was intended to.

She said the fact is that only 5% of the most fertile woman’s eggs are genetically normal. So when doctors are stimulating multiple follicles to grow through the use of FSH drugs, perhaps all they are really doing is stimulating the other 95% of eggs. These are eggs that were never supposed to be ovulated. They are the bad eggs, and there is a reason that the body wasn’t developing them naturally. So when they are removed from a woman’s ovary of course most of them don’t fertilize, or develop as they should, or implant after transfer, or make it to freeze.

She went on to say that even when you get to the blastocyst stage they’ve found only 40% of blasts are genetically normal. So even if you make it that far, there’s still a 60% chance that the blast is genetically abnormal and therefore will not result in a pregnancy. And the problem is there’s really no way to tell. Genetic testing on embryos can search for particular abnormalities, but not all possible abnormalities and for that reason the testing does not significantly increase the rate of pregnancy when it’s carried out.

Then she started going on about how studies have shown that IVF parents make better parents than “spontaneous parents” because they have already been through the horrible physical and mental stresses of infertility. They’ve hit rock bottom already, they’ve seen the worst that life has to offer, so staying up all night with a crying baby is a cake walk.

But then the doctor said that people who are going through IVF and then give up before they get a baby were never going to make good parents anyway. If a person can’t handle the stress of IVF then they weren’t ever going to handle the stress of parenthood. I mean seriously how offensive is that! People stop treatment for a number of reasons. Sometimes people run out of money and can’t afford more treatment, sometimes they’re too old, sometimes their medical problems prevent them from continuing.

How rude to basically infer that those who discontinue IVF are quitters who were never going to be good parents! It was almost like she sensed we weren’t planning to come and see her anymore, and she was trying to indirectly convince us to keep attending her clinic. Like she wanted us to know if we stopped doing IVF with her she would assume it was because we were lousy quitters who were never going to be good parents.

Then she kept on saying that even though my eggs clearly had issues this cycle, they seemed to be okay in the previous cycle. We had 7 eggs picked up, 4 fertilized, 2 were transferred back to me, 1 was frozen.

“That’s an average IVF cycle.” she insisted. “So I don’t think there’s any need for you to stress about this failed cycle, because in your last cycle you were Miss Average. If you hadn’t been average last cycle then it would be major issue. But you were average. Miss Average is good!”

“Let’s discuss ‘Miss Average’ in terms of IVF.” Doug piped up. “What does Miss Average look like? Is she Sadie’s age?”

“Well, no.” Doctor Holiday admitted. “The average female in Australia going through IVF is 37 years old.”

“So because Sadie was over a decade younger than these women when she had her eggs picked-up, can we assume then that she should in fact not be Miss Average?” Doug asked. “And the averages shouldn’t apply to Sadie because 26 year old and 27 year old eggs should be of much higher quality than a 37 year olds? Being average would actually be a poor outcome for her, in this case?”

“Yes when you put it like that.” the doctor agreed. “But let’s not forget, average is good sometimes! And Sadie was average!”

It was sort of like groundhog day or something. Perhaps the doctor had become selectively deaf. It was like she completely glossed over the point that Doug was trying to make.

The ‘Miss Average’ IVF female in the under 30 age-group conceives after one cycle of IVF. Over 90% of under 30s in Australia have a clinical pregnancy after two cycles of IVF. Those are the averages I should be compared to. Not the average of IVF women overall, whose eggs are 10 years older than mine. And even judging me by those averages, I’m still well behind.

“Ok Sadie let me just ask you this,” the doctor said. “Are you ready to go again or do you want to have a break?”

“No.” I blurted out. “No break. I want to go again. I want to try with our frozen embryo.”

The doctor stared at me for a long time, almost as if she was weighing up whether or not she should allow me to actually cycle back-to-back, or if I did in fact need a break.

“Ok.” she finally relented. “What day of your cycle are you on?”

“Five.” I said. “I still have my period.”

We then discussed my options, in terms of FET protocol. Because I don’t ovulate we can’t do a natural FET cycle, so I really only had two choices. One was to take low doses of FSH to stimulate a follicle to grow, and my body to ovulate. The other option was to take estrogren tablets to build the lining of my uterus and progesterone to stimulate my hormones, then do an FET without ovulation. The latter was the protocol we used for my first FET and it is the one I chose this time as well.

Why? Simple. Ovulation is a big deal for me because I’ve never ovulated on my own before. So when I see and feel those follicles growing (albeit thanks to the scientific wonder that is FSH drugs) I feel a great sense of achievement and attachment. The idea of growing an egg and then wasting it just doesn’t sit well with me. I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to try and fertilize that egg the old-fashioned way when I eventually did ovulate. Blocked tubes or not, I would still try.

So the doctor wrote me out a script for Ethinyloestradiol 50mcg and instructed me to take one per day. It’s a drug I’ve actually never used before. After eleven days, I will see her again and she will scan me to check the lining of my uterus. Once my uterus lining is looking thick and ready, I will start on progesterone. Then they will attempt to thaw Jelly. We are also going to go for assisted hatching this time around, because Jelly has a super thick shell.

And if the FET doesn’t work, we’re off to see Doctor Fancy-Pants.

All in all I’m really happy with our decision to not return to Doctor Holiday after our FET. She is just too expensive, and we aren’t getting bang for our buck. She’s better than our first fertility doctor, but nowhere near the standard some of you ladies seem to be getting from your doctors. We just want someone we can trust, and someone who we believe really does care about us and our plight.

On the way home from the doctor, we took a call from Doug’s father. The bluetooth in the car picked up the call so we could both hear and speak to him. He’s just the greatest guy, I love him so much. He’s supportive and caring and always willing to help us. But he said something that kind of upset me.

“Sadie,” he said. “I just want you to know that if you can’t ever have children, nobody in our family will blame you and nobody will think you’re defective.”

I know he was trying to make me feel better, but it just felt like a slap in the face. Why would he use the word defective? Had people in Doug’s family been using that word to describe me? I wouldn’t put it past them.

And to be honest, even though majority of our infertility problems are my problems, I’ve always thought of it as a joint struggle. Doug has grade 3 sperm with some morphology problems, which is why we need to do ICSI. I didn’t realise that if we can’t have children people will be solely laying the blame on me. That was a bit of a wake-up call. I know his dad was saying he wouldn’t blame me, but all I heard was the word blame.

“Dad don’t say things like that please.” Doug snapped. “We don’t need to be saying those types of things to Sadie just yet ok?”

To Doug’s credit he got his dad off the phone really quickly and then changed the subject to try and keep me from dwelling on the conversation, but it’s a bit too late. I can’t stop thinking about it. In my mind I’ve turned all of my father-in-law’s words around. I’m defective and I’m to blame.

I just need to stay focused now. My expectations for Jelly are very low, but I am mid-cycle now so I just need to keep going forward. Take every day as it comes. Keep breathing. All that other motivational junk.

After all, I don’t really have much choice…

As always, I’ll keep you updated.

Sadie xx

Musings, moanings and more dramas

Right now I feel alone, tired and confused. I don’t even know if there’s a point to this blog post other than to find a way to focus my thoughts for a few minutes.

I did everything right this cycle. Honestly, I did.

In the past I have been quite silly during the two week wait. After my last embryo transfer (in November 2013) I went straight home from the hospital and spent the rest of the day painting the front fence in the blistering heat. I painted the front fence! And I still got pregnant! Sure it ended up ectopic, but at least the little bugger implanted.

This time, for the first time ever, I kept my feet warm during the two week wait. I haven’t done that in the past because it isn’t something routinely recommended by my doctor. But I didn’t want to take any chances. I was so sure this was my time, and I wanted to do everything I could to make sure I was right.

Did I mention there was a heatwave in Melbourne during my two week wait? Temperatures got up to 40 degrees (104 Fahrenheit) and everyone was wearing skimpy summer clothing to try and keep cool. And here I was in my socks, sweating up a storm.

I couldn’t wear socks at work because socks don’t really look right in the corporate environment (particularly because I tend to wear suit skirts and heels or strappy sandals) so I wore tights. Can you imagine the stares I received from people on the street when I walked past them in the sweltering heat wearing thick black tights under my skirt?

But then to make sure I didn’t overheat my uterus I was rolling the top of the tights down to sit beneath my pelvic bone. So my skirts had this weird lump in them and I felt super uncomfortable all day.

I also ate pineapple core for the first five days after transfer. I’ve never done that before either because I don’t have too much trust in anything anecdotal that science can’t unquestionably substantiate. But I did it, because I’d never done it before, and I thought it might make the difference for me. I thought it might make my uterus just that little bit stickier and ensure me success.

Then I googled other old wives tales about IVF. Or should I say new wives tales, because none of the old wives ever got to experience the pleasures of modern assisted reproductive technology. Ha…ha…

Doctor Google informed me that that it’s good to only eat warm foods during the two week wait. Thus began two weeks of obsessively eating soup. I mean seriously here I am wearing my socks, and eating soup while everyone else is taking cold showers to try and beat the heatwave. It was so stupid, but I was so determined. I wanted to make sure everything was just right for the little embryos so I checked my temperature regularly throughout the day to make sure I was warm but not overheated.

I also stopped drinking anything that was colder than room temperature. And in a heat wave, that basically means I was only drinking warm water. But not water from the tap! Because I read that the fluoride added to tap water can be counterproductive to fertility. So I was guzzling bottle after bottle of warm bottled water. It was expensive and I was leaving empty bottles all around the house. Because you can’t reuse bottles – they’re not BPA free! And that’s bad for fertility!

I just…don’t understand. I did everything right. I was careful and smart and went above and beyond. I am young. I am reasonably healthy. Why didn’t this work for me? Why me? Why?

Do you know in my four fully stimmed IVF cycles to date I have had a total of 51 eggs picked up. And do you know of those 51 eggs only two have made it to freeze. Four have been transferred back, and two have been frozen. That’s it. Only six of my 51 eggs were decent. 45 of them either failed to fertilize, or arrested after fertilization, or didn’t make it to a developmental stage or quality where they could be frozen.

I am 27 years old. Majority of those eggs were picked up over twelve months ago so they were 26 year old eggs. That is not the kind of result you expect to see in a 26/27 year old. So why has no doctor raised this with me before? Why has no doctor suggested we do genetic testing? Why has no doctor hinted that there could be a problem with my eggs? These are the same doctors who are so happy to just keep signing us up for more IVF, and keep shoving their sticky little hands into our pockets to relieve us of our life savings.

I am so hurt and confused. There is no endless money pit in my backyard. We can’t just keep giving doctors thousands of dollars for treatments that aren’t going to work, because there’s something genetically wrong with my eggs. I don’t feel like any of the medical professionals who treat me have any sort of care about my feelings, or have my best interests at heart. I think they have their own interests at heart. I noticed recently that my doctor has a new sports car. I’m sure my IVF cycles contributed to that little purchase.

In terms of my battle with infertility I’m certainly not winning at the moment. Nor am I winning in the game of life in general.

This morning I was in so much pain when I woke up at about 6am, so decided to take our little toy poodle Arnold out into the yard to play fetch. I don’t talk about Arnie as much as I should, considering the incredible and positive impact he has on my life. Here’s a few photos:




Yes, in that last photo I had dressed him in a yellow raincoat with flowers on it. He’s manly enough to be ok with it, and you should be too. Never mind the sour expression on his face, he secretly loves it. Honest.

Anyway, Arnold loves fetch like an infertile loves peeing on sticks so I knew it would cheer us both up. So off we both trekked into the yard. After about 15 minutes of game time, Arnold was racing back to me with his little green giraffe in his mouth (yes his favourite fetch toy is a little green giraffe – I don’t know how or why a manufacturer found it necessary to produce and sell a green giraffe but he loves it) when suddenly he started shrieking and fell to the ground.

My first thought as I ran towards him was that he had broken his leg. The shrieking was high pitched and ear piercing, and I was sure a neighbour was going to phone the police because they could hear a child screaming. But then he started convulsing in a weird way and I immediately knew he had been bitten by something. My little dog is tiny, even for a toy poodle. He’s barely 2kg (4.5lbs) and I was so petrified that he had been bitten by a poisonous spider. There’s no way he’d have made it to the vet alive because the venom wouldn’t have taken very long to work it’s way through his tiny system.

I scooped him up into my arms and cradled him like a baby so all four of his legs were angled towards my face. He was still convulsing, and had curled his left hind leg in towards his body. I started pulling at his paw trying to look for evidence of a spider, and he shrieked even louder. Seeing no evidence of a bite, I started to shriek myself. I didn’t know what was wrong with my sweet little fur-baby and I didn’t know how to help him or take his pain away.

I ran back across the yard and into the house screaming for my husband. Doug was still asleep in bed, but I heard him upstairs as his feet slammed onto the wooden floor and he raced towards the staircase. When he reached me I was at the bottom of the stairs, still holding our shrieking and shaking puppy.

“What is it?” he cried, reaching for us both.

At that moment, I peeled Arnie’s sore leg away from his body and caught sight of a gigantic wasp that was latched onto his inner leg. Immediately I started panicking, because I am very allergic to bees and wasps. I was thrown into this awful state of conflict. My instincts were telling me to drop the dog and run as fast as I could, because I was in danger by placing myself so close to an angry wasp. The other part of me was crying out to protect my baby anyway I could and just rip the wasp from his little body with my bare hands.

“I can’t touch the wasp!” I screamed, over the shrieks of the dog. “Get the wasp away from me!”

Immediately Doug reached towards the wasp to grab it, then suddenly withdrew his hand. “I can’t see! I’m blind! I can’t see what I’m doing!” he cried, and then raced upstairs to grab his glasses off the bedside table.

When he came back downstairs again he grabbed a wad of tissues and ripped the wasp away from Arnold’s leg before squashing it dead on the kitchen bench. Arnold immediately stopped shrieking, but he was still shaking like a leaf and he tucked his head into my neck as if he was hiding from the world. He just wanted to be comforted.

“It’s ok my baby,” I said, holding him close. “I’m going to make you all better.”

I left Doug holding Arnold, and raced upstairs to get dressed. Then I phoned the vet, who said I would need to bring Arnold in immediately in case he was having an allergic reaction. Meanwhile, Doug put Arnie down on the floor to see how sick he was, and instead of standing up or walking he just sort of collapsed on the ground. He was conscious but clearly in a bad state.

Suddenly it occured to me that I wasn’t going to be able to go to work that day. I would need to be at the vet. Last year I ended up having a huge falling out with my bosses who were not supportive of my fertility treatment, and frequent absences from the office. I started a new job in January (same organisation, different department) and my new workplace is more supportive, but I’ve already had two sick days in less than a month. I couldn’t possibly have another day off. I need to keep them onside, in the hope that my eggs are genetically normal and I’ll be doing more IVF in the future.

All I can say is thank God my parents live less than five minutes away. They were over at the house almost straight away, and more than willing to take Arnold to the vet for me. As I passed him over into my mother’s arms he looked up at me with his big brown eyes and I just knew he was upset that I was abandonning him. I kissed his little nose and promised that nothing bad was going to happen to him, and told him I was sorry that I wasn’t able to rescue him by removing the wasp myself. I felt so incredibly guilty. I felt like a bad parent.

Later on, my father told me that when they arrived at the vet my mother had cried out “You have to help this sick dog! My daughter is going through IVF and this dog is her replacement baby! Nothing bad can happen to him!”

And the vet actually smiled and said “Don’t worry, my sister has just had her first baby after eight cycles of IVF. I know exactly what your daughter is going through and I’ll take good care of her dog.”

And she was true to her word. Arnie had to have a whole bunch of shots to stop the allergic reaction, and reduce the swelling in his leg. He still can’t walk and he’s very lethargic but he was allowed to go home with my parents earlier and he’s resting now.

Honestly I don’t know what I would have done if something bad had happened to my dog. He really is like my replacement baby. I take him everywhere with me (not to work, obviously…), rock him like a baby, dress him up in little outfits and snuggle with him every night. He’s seen me through so many dark moments in my life. I’ve even taught him to lift his front legs when I say “up up” just like a small child so that I can pick him up more easily. He doesn’t even know he’s a dog. He thinks he’s a little boy. A little boy who likes to play fetch 24/7.

I am so incredibly grateful and thankful that my little boy is ok. We will still need to keep a close eye on him for the next few days, but I’m hoping he makes a really speedy recovery.

I honestly can’t take anymore bad news right now. If you have bad news for me, can you hold off on it for a couple of days please? I need a break.

Sadie xx

A boring summary of my 4th IVF cycle (the final part)

In the past I have been accused (by my husband, doctor and close family members) of being extremely negative during my IVF cycles, and particularly during the two week wait.

I was told repeatedly that if I stressed less maybe the embryos would have a better chance, despite the fact my psychologist has told me directly that studies have shown negative and positive emotions have zero impact on success rates.

But I was still high off my vacation to Malaysia and feeling confident that I’d had my last ever egg pick-up. I was just so sure this time was my time. So the two week wait started incredibly positively.

After my bungled embryo transfer, my mother took me out to lunch to try and take my mind off what had taken place. I was in such a good state of mind. We talked the whole meal about my “twins” as if they were a sure thing.

I also realised I had to come up with nicknames for them. Given that I’d just come home from Asia, and was wearing my ‘year of the horse’ necklace for good luck I decided to name the “twins” after the co-captains of the Broncos – Parker and Hodges.

For those who are unaware that there is a Broncos football team other than the Denver Broncos (yes that’s right I’m telling the truth!) the Brisbane Broncos are one of the most successful rugby league teams in Australia.

I grew up in Queensland (where they are based) so I’ve always followed them and gone to their games when they play in Melbourne. I thought it would be so cool to take my “twins” to football games in the coming years and show them the players they had been named after in-utero.

Here’s a photo of my “twins”, Hodges on the top and Parker on the bottom. Hodges was a grade 2 and compacting nicely but you can see his fragmentation problems. Parker was developmentally advanced for a day 3 embryo, and given a grade of 1.



After lunch, my mother and I went to some baby stores. Yes, you read that right we went to baby stores. I was feeling so confident about P&H (that’s the twins, in case you didn’t get it) that I felt absolutely no stress or anxiety being in those stores. Sure, I was surrounded by pregnant women and mothers with young babies. But I was going to be one of them soon. I would be joining their ranks. So it was ok for me to be there. I felt secretly accepted.

In one of the stores we found mini football team singlets, and they had a Broncos design! The tiny singlets were in team colours and had the words “Mummy’s little Bronco” written across them. My mother pointed out how strange it was that they didn’t say “Daddy’s little Bronco” because football is generally associated with men. But lucky they didn’t because Doug doesn’t follow rugby league at all. He was born and raised here in Melbourne so he’s an AFL fanatic. Mummy’s little Bronco was perfect.

I took it as a sign from the universe that my little Broncos were definitely on their way. I bought two of the singlets and hung them up in my wardrobe. They looked like they belonged there.


“I don’t want to rain on your parade,” Doug said as he watched me admiring the singlets. “But I think you’re actually being too positive this time. I can’t be as positive as you. I need to guard myself ok?”

Oh but I didn’t care at all if Doug didn’t want to join in the positivity-fest. Me and the boys (yes I gave P&H genders) had each other and that was all that mattered.

And then, three days after my embryo transfer, I was in the back garden shed unpacking boxes of gardening gear and tools when my phone rang. At the time I was holding a white handled shovel, trying to hook it up on the wall, so I didn’t even check the caller ID.

“Hello Sadie speaking!” I chirped happily.

“Hi Sadie, this is Leanne I’m one of the embryologists at your clinic.”

“Oh hi!” I said, breaking out into a huge grin.

I had been excitedly anticipating this phone call. I was about to find out how many of my remaining embryos had made it to freeze. I suspected two, but was hoping for three. Maybe even four!! These were my back-ups. They were the reason I was so confident I would never have to do another egg pick-up. I was done with IVF. My future children were all sorted.

“I’m so sorry to advise you that none of your embryos were frozen.” Leanne said slowly.

“What?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard her correctly.

“I’m so sorry Sadie.” she said. “It looks like all of your embryos stopped growing after day 3.”

“All of them?” I gasped.

“Yes they all stopped growing at the same time. One of them started growing again last night but it only made it to day 4 stage. Too slow to freeze.” Leanne explained.

“Well why would they all stop growing like that?” I asked.

“Usually when they all stop collectively it’s a genetic problem.” she said. “Usually a genetic problem with your eggs.”

My eggs? They were the only things that hadn’t been tested. I have every other infertility problem under the sun but no doctor had ever suggested there was something wrong with my eggs. It was the last thing I needed. It would take all options of parenthood off the table. Donor eggs arent readily available in Australia.

“Does this mean that the two that were transferred back to me would also have stopped growing?” I asked.

“It’s impossible to tell.” Leanne said. “I’m sorry. I hope not. We’ll have to wait and see.”

After I hung up the phone, I stood alone in the garden shed crying hysterically, still clutching the white handled shovel tightly in my hands.

All my chances were gone. My last hope was already inside me. If I failed to become pregnant, I would have to do another fully stimmed IVF cycle. If my eggs were bad I couldn’t even do that.

Every ounce of positivity instantly melted away and Miss Negative was back. Suddenly I was struggling to cope. I needed to know if P&H were going to implant. I just needed to know. Thankfully, I was having a lot of symptoms. I was getting more pinching and tugging in my uterus than I had with either of my pregnancies. That kept a small glimmer of sanity alive for me.

7dp3dt I woke up in the morning feeling like someone had repeatedly punched me in the abdomen. It wasn’t that cute and hopeful tugging anymore. It was full on menstrual cramping. I was hysterical.

I rushed to the bathroom and took a pregnancy test. Negative.

“It’s ok.” I said to Doug. “With both my other pregnancies I didn’t get a positive until 8dp3dt. It’ll be fine!”

But in my heart and in my mind I was worried it wasn’t fine. It was far from fine. I went out to the supermarket and bought hundreds of dollars worth of pregnancy tests. I figured if I exclusively used the really expensive brands and the digital tests that I would get a clearer result. And by “clearer” of course I mean “positive”. FRER became my closest friend.

But 8dp3dt brought with it negative, negative, negative, negative results. I kept testing throughout the day and that second little pink line was nowhere in sight. No matter how long I stared at the test, no matter what light I held it under, no matter what angle it was tilted to. Negative.

Every day between 8dp3dt and 11dp3dt I wasted at least $40 in pregnancy tests. I’m not even kidding. It got to the point where every time I went to the bathroom Doug was banging on the door shouting “Sadie you better not be peeing on a stick in there!”

I knew the cramping was menstrual cramping. I knew the tests were negative. But I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I couldn’t give up. I was in shock, really. At 27 years old, on my fourth fully stimmed cycle (fifth cycle if you counted my FET), and after two pregnancies, this was statistically supposed to be the cycle that worked for me. This was the time that was supposed to be my time.

On 11dp3dt before I went to get my blood drawn I had finally resigned myself to the fact this was a negative cycle. I was mentally prepared and ready to deal with the sadness and move on.

But then I tested at home, and I got a squinter. A squinter! A second little pink line. Definitely not an evap line. Definitely not something I was imagining because my husband could see it too! But still so faint that I couldn’t even pick it up when I tried to take a photo of it. My heart soared and my hope returned. Maybe this was my time. Maybe everything would be all right. Maybe all my worrying had been for nothing.

I was cautiously optimistic as I headed in to get my blood drawn, and content when I drove to work. Maybe, just maybe, I was going to get a nice surprise.

But a couple of hours later the phone rang. It was one of the IVF nurses.

“Sadie,” she said, her voice sombre. “I’m so sorry to tell you that your blood work shows you’re not pregnant.”

And just like that, it was over.

This entire cycle had been a massive waste of time. No pregnancy. No frozen embryos. Nothing. Just thousands of dollars down the drain.

I went to the bathroom at work, locked myself in a cubicle and cried so hard I thought my chest cavity was going to cave in and crush my heart and lungs.

I felt broken. I felt useless. I felt bitter and hateful and angry and devastated all at the same time. I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. I wanted to tear all my hair out. I wanted to scream my pain to everybody in my office.

Instead I calmed myself down, unlocked the cubicle door, washed my face at the sink and then went and sat back down at my desk like nothing had happened. When you have a failed IVF cycle you don’t even have the right to grieve. Nobody at work cares one iota, and nobody expects you to slack off or stop working. You become invisible. Your pain is invisible.

When I got home from work yesterday I went to my wardrobe and took the two little Broncos baby singlets that were hanging next to my own clothes. I folded them carefully and placed them on the top shelf in the wardrobe in the back bedroom. A place where I will never have to see them, and will never have to think about them. I couldn’t throw them out because they belonged to Parker and Hodges, but I don’t want to be reminded of my failures every time I get dressed in the morning.

I woke up this morning with my period. It is already really, really bad. It is more painful than I ever remember it being in recent years. It is so bad I am having trouble carrying out regular daily activities like walking and eating. But I am at work. And I am pretending that nothing is wrong with me. I feel like I’m wearing a mask to try and hide the fact I’m really covered in slimy scales beneath my clothes. My infertility causes those scales, causes me to be an incomplete person. My infertility is my dirty secret.

For now I want you to know that I am around. I am here. I will try to update my blog and keep my emotions flowing. When I bottle them up I start to sink too deeply into that mud-pit of misery and depression.

But I don’t know whether I will have the energy or the strength to read and post on your blogs. I know of at least two of you who have received great news this week about your own cycles. Don’t get me wrong, I am ridiculously pleased for these ladies. You girls deserve this blessing and happiness more than anyone else I’ve ever come across. But I’m just not in a head space right now where I can soak up the joy of others. I am too low, I am too sad, I am too broken. Please forgive me, I’m not strong enough to smile through my tears at the moment. I will be there to congratulate you as soon as I am.

Today is a bad day. Tomorrow will be a bad day too. Maybe someday in the future I’ll have a good day again. Surely I deserve one? Here’s hoping…

Sadie xx

(You can read Part One here)

(You can read Part Two here)

(You can read Part Three here)

A boring summary of my 4th IVF cycle (part three!!!)

The embryologist phoned me to let me know I had been scheduled for a day 4 embryo tranfer.

I was prepared for this eventuality, and not happy with it. Neither was I planning to go ahead with it.

“Can I ask a question?” I interrupted her as she was discussing the time I needed to arrive at the hospital.

“Sure.” she said uneasily.

“Why am I having a day 4 transfer?”

“Um, well,” she started. “Unfortunately you had your egg pick-up on a Tuesday and that means a day 5 transfer would take place on a Sunday. And we don’t open on Sundays.”

Ah yes, but of course. Never mind what’s best for the patient who is paying thousands of dollars for treatment. The clinic doesn’t open on Sundays. Makes perfect sense.

“”But why am I having a day 4 transfer?” I asked, undeterred. “I mean the embryos are taken out of the incubator on days 1, 3 and 5 aren’t they?”

“Yes….” she said.

“So they were taken out on day 1 to check for fertilization.” I said. “Then they’ll be taken out on day 3 to check for progress, taken out on day 4 to pick the best embryos for transfer, taken out on day 5 to check them again and then taken out to freeze on day 6. What happens to embryos when they’re taken out of the incubator?”

“They’re placed under stress.” the embryologist said. “It has a very small impact on their quality.”

“Right.” I said, happy she was proving my point. “And you’re going to take my embryos out of the incubator four days in a row. That doesn’t seem like a good idea to me, unless you can definitively tell me that there’s evidence to suggest a day 4 transfer improves pregnancy rates compared to a day 3 transfer. Of course I want the best possible chance to get pregnant, but I’m also very mindful of our other embryos. I want to freeze as many as possible and give us as many chances as possible to succeed.”

“Well actually,” the embryologist said. “It’s much harder for us to pick the best embryo on day 4 than it is on day 3. On day 4 the embryos are going through a transition stage and it’s almost impossible to tell which ones will come out of it looking the best.”

“So you’re actually recommending I go with a day 3 transfer?” I asked.

“I’m not allowed to recommend one day over the other,” she said. “But between you and I, if I was you I’d be going with a day 3 transfer. Put two embryos back so you give yourself the best chance at pregnancy and also help your other embryos in the incubator at the same time.”

“Ok that’s great.” I said happily. “Let’s set that up.”

There was silence on the phone for a moment.

“You’re always so smart…” the embryologist suddenly said, in a faraway voice.

You guys, I think I’m getting a reputation at the clinic as someone who likes to interfere with my treatment plan. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing…

As it turns out, Doug wasn’t available to have time off work for my day 3 transfer so instead I elected to take my mother along. The transfer was to be at 11.45am on Friday morning, and it was going to be with Doctor Eventi. That same replacement doctor who had turned up half an hour late to my egg pick-up.

“This doctor is supposedly fantastic.” I explained to mum as she drove to the hospital. “But after my egg pick-up fiasco he has one last chance to prove himself. My own doctor isn’t anything to write home about, but I’m certainly not transferring to this doctor if he isn’t any better.”

My admission time was 11.30am, and my full bladder was just starting to become painful when we arrived at the clinic. The worst thing about embryo transfer, other than the nerves, is the fact you need to have a full bladder for the guided ultrasound. This time around I had stupidly polished off 150ml more water than I was supposed to. 150ml is no big deal unless you leave it sitting in your already full bladder for an hour.

At 12pm, fifteen minutes after my scheduled transfer time. a nurse came out to ask me how I was coping.

“My bladder is stinging, but I’m managing ok.” I said. “How far away is the doctor?”

“We aren’t sure. ” she admitted. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

At 12.30pm, a huge 45 minutes after my scheduled transfer time, they started ringing the doctor’s phone but he wasn’t answering. I was furious. I couldn’t believe he was late again! And this time he was super late.

The embryologist came out and showed me photos of my embryos to save time. Of the seven embryos that had fertilized, we had a grade 1, a grade 2, three grade 3s and a grade 4 in the incubator. The grade 1 was perfect looking and actually developmentally quite ahead and sitting at the day 4 stage. The embryologist was very happy with it. The grade 2 embryo was nicely compacted and also right on schedule, but had some fragmentation. They were the two chosen for transfer.

“Don’t worry about your other embryos.” she said. “From memory last time you had a grade 3 embryo on day 3 and it ended up coming good and was frozen on day 6.”

“Yes that’s right.” I nodded, feeling confident.

At 12.45pm, an entire hour after my scheduled transfer time, the nurse took me into the theatre and started prepping me. She dressed me in one of those sexy backless hospital gowns and had me up on the table ready to go. She said there was nothing else they could do other than wait.

The pain in my bladder was so terrible that I was sure I was going to end up with a bladder infection, and I was concerned about my embryos who had already been prepped for transfer an hour ago.

“All I can say,” the nurse said. “Is that if you pee on the doctor during the transfer then it will be entirely his own fault for keeping you waiting!”

At 1.00pm the doctor strolled casually into the theatre.

“Oh hello!” he said. “You’re already all set up in here? How unusual!”

“Yes we’re trying to be quick.” the nurse said grumpily. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”

“My phone?” he said flippantly. “Oh I lost it.”

Well, great. The guy is an hour and fifteen minutes late while I’m sitting in the waiting room with a full bladder because he lost his phone. Happy days.

“Well Sadie,” he said, turning to me. “The other day at your egg pick-up I was late and you were very cross with me weren’t you?”

“Yes.” I agreed. “I was.”

I was honestly in so much shock I didn’t even have it in me to complain about the fact he was once again late.

“This is the first time we’re properly meeting isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes.” I agreed again.

“But look at you! You’re just a baby!” he gasped. “How old are you?”

“I’m 27.” I replied.

“27 is too young for IVF!” he said. “Why do you need IVF?”

“I have endometriosis, PCOS, adenomyosis, hyperprolactinemia and blocked tubes.” I said through gritted teeth. “And this is my fourth cycle of IVF. I’m not a baby.”

After that I think he got the idea that I wasn’t really in a mood to chat so we got started with the procedure.

“I always have to remind Doctor Holiday that I have a long cervix so you need to use a longer speculum.” I told him as I lay back onto the bed with my legs in the stirrups.

He began with an internal examination and cleaned the crinone build-up out with saline. After that, we were ready for the transfer to begin.

“Actually I disagree.” he said. “You have a normal length cervix and we will use the normal length speculum.”

So he inserted the instrument and started opening my vagina. I have vaginismus so it was excrutiatingly painful, particularly with my over-full bladder. I was gripping my mother’s hand so tightly it was starting to turn purple. After a minute Doctor Eventi stopped and assessed his work.

“It looks like you were right Sadie.” he said. “We do need that longer speculum after all!”

Just like that! No concern for the pain I was in, or apology for the fact he had ignored my advice and now I was paying the price for it. The nurse rolled her eyes so violently I thought they were going to fall out of her head.

When Doctor Eventi finally got the second speculum in place, my body was starting to go into lockdown. My pelvic muscles were trying to shut up shop so desperately that even with the speculum holding me open he couldn’t get the catheter inside my uterus.

“Your internal organs seem to be resisting…” he frowned, pushing harder to try and get the catheter inside me.

In the end he had to go and get a different type of catheter and wash my cervix with saline again just to force his way inside. Then the two embryos were loaded into the catheter and ready for transfer. The nurse was scanning my belly so we could see a clear image of my uterus on the screen.

“Where is the catheter?” Doctor Eventi asked, looking at the ultrasound screen.

“What do you mean?” asked the nurse.

“I can’t see it in there. Where is it?” he frowned. “I’m going to poke it around and you just shout out if you can see it on the screen.”

Let me tell you if I hadn’t already been lying down I would have fallen over in shock. The man who I was trusting to get me pregnant, the man who was pocketing thousands of dollars of my hard earned savings, didn’t even know where the catherer was. He had apparently lost it in my uterus.

“There!” my mother said. “I see it in the top corner of the uterus.”

“Ah yes!” the doctor nodded. “Good work Sadie’s Mum. It looks like it’s in a pretty good position so I’m ready to insert the embryos now.”

I couldn’t believe it was up to my friggen mother to find the catheter for the doctor! And I couldn’t believe he was being so flippant about the whole thing. A pretty good position? You’d better be damn sure it was in the absolute perfect position if you’re playing with my health, my emotions and my bank account.

As he was completing the transfer, the doctor began to laugh. “These embryos look so healthy. What will you do if they both take? What will you do if one splits and you end up with triplets? You might get triplets you know!”

What kind of stupid question is that? If I get one baby I’ll be ecstatic. If I get two babies I’ll be completely over the moon. If I get three I’ll be completely freaked out, but also thankful. Did he expect me to say that I would selectively abort a baby if we had triplets? That I would adopt one out? I mean honestly what an idiotic thing to mention.

Thankfully, before I had the chance to say something biting or witty I was informed the procedure was over and I was allowed to get up and run to the bathroom. That was much more important than wasting time having a go at the doctor.

“Well congratulations and good luck!” the doctor said. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine because those embryos looked great.”

On the way home from the hospital I called Doug to let him know how everything had gone. He was completely furious with the treatment I had received, but also happy with the final result. We had two beautiful embryos on board, and four more still alive in the incubator who were going to bake for a few more days. Everything was falling into place.

“Doug what will we do if neither of these embryos implant, and none of the other embryos freeze?” I asked quietly.

“Don’t be silly.” my husband said. “That’s not even going to happen. You’re 27. Your embryos looked great. We’ll get many chances. We’ll get pregnant. This is going to be our year! I can feel it!”

If only wishing made it so…

(to be contined AGAIN….only one more part in this long-winded saga, I promise!)

(You can view Part One here)

(You can view Part Two here)