And then, of course, there was the global pandemic.
I almost don’t even know where to start with that. Except that it made me think a few things. Firstly I was SO grateful that we had made the decision to use donor eggs before all this started. As the world ground to a halt and IVF clinics shut down, my heart broke for all the women who had planned an IVF cycle with their own eggs, but had no idea when that would ever be possible again.
I’ve not written since July, and what I wrote in July was months out of date, so as you can imagine, what I’m writing now is even more out of date. But I want it written down. Partly because I feel some sense of duty to you, if you’re still following… because I’ve followed blogs and then they’ve tailed off and I’ve felt a bit, well, cheated, it’s like reading a book that someone never finished writing, or getting a library book and finding someone has ripped the last chapters out so you don’t know how it ends.
When the call came, the number wasn’t in my phone, and a donor was the furthest thought from my mind. We’d had generic email updates from the agency keeping us posted about the impact that the pandemic had had on the recruitment of donors and the possibility of treatment delays, but for me, the whole things was sort of mentally parked. There was comfort in knowing that what happened next was in someone else’s hands. Continue reading
As I mentioned in my last blog (all those months ago), you can’t run away forever, so I got back from running away, and made a decision that I probably wouldn’t have made if I were on my own. I decided to try to find an egg donor.
When I was single and doing this alone, I had pretty much decided that I wasn’t OK with the idea of trying to become a parent of a child that I had no genetic relationship to. I had said — to myself as much as anything — that I might feel differently if I were in a relationship with someone else but that idea was so abstract, I didn’t have to think about Continue reading
I ran away in January. To a place that I didn’t associate with trying and not succeeding. Somewhere I drank wine and stopped worrying about whether I was eating enough vegetables. (I wasn’t.) Somewhere I stopped caring if food was packaged in plastic (it was), or whether the tomatoes were organic (they weren’t). Somewhere my life wasn’t measured out in blood tests and supplements and scans and injections. Where I rudely
Because I told him. And he was about as amazing about it as I could have hoped he might be. And now writing about all this feels a bit weird, because I’m not just writing about me and something that affects me. I know I’m anonymous, and by extension so is he, but it feels like I don’t have the right to talk about how he reacted in any detail. It’s not just my story any more. Continue reading
I started writing about the biopsy that’s part of The Plan but then someone asked recently if I was going to give costs for all this and so I thought I’d do a quick one on that. If I’m honest, this was a post I’d been intending to do, but I think I’d rather put it off, not just because I didn’t want to horrify myself, but also because in my heart of hearts I wanted to do it at a point that seemed to mark a final point, like, I dunno, when I had a baby in my hands (mine rather than just anyone else’s) but it probably makes sense to give you an idea of what I’ve spent so far. Continue reading
I know that sounds ridiculous, I mean it actually sounds like it doesn’t mean anything at all, but it’s another of those things that I’m trying to live by in a bid not to drive myself mad during these two weeks. Because otherwise you’d go loopy.
Otherwise, you, might, for example, when you’ve got five minutes before you need to leave the house and you still haven’t done your makeup, find yourself at your computer googling “3dp3dt spotting” Continue reading
last post I rather glossed over that crucially important point when they actually put the one good embryo inside me. Which, rather like my not spending much time thinking about the actual donor, is a little bit weird when you think about it. But then I think my reactions to so many parts of this process are weird — they definitely seem weird to other people.
I realised that in my
Various friends asked if I wanted them to come with me for the embryo transfer. I didn’t. Continue reading
Rather as I predicted, in my own head at least, little victories are often followed by little disappointments. Three days after the eggs were fertilised, only one was suitable quality for being transferred. It was a good embryo, they told me, eight-cells, grade 1 — they don’t get better than that, they told me. But the others, ah yes, the others — 3-cell, 5-cell and 6-cell with a lot of fragmentation.
I don’t really know what any of that actually means, apart from Continue reading