But once bitten, twice shy and all that. We said yes to the agency, we signed paperwork, we paid sums of money for treatment, but I felt very detached from it all. I just didn’t really engage with it. It was all taking ages, there were tests for her, tests for me, tests for B – the tests went on and on, the weeks and months went by. The process of getting our donor to the point where she could actually donate, that we’d been told would take three months, dragged on and on — if this were a film or TV programme, this is the point at which you’d see the leaves on the trees changing colour from autumn to winter to spring to denote the passing of time.Continue reading
So Saturday eventually rolled around and with it another egg retrieval procedure. My sixth. I’m almost blasé about them now. I kind of love the sedation (although after the last time I made sure to let the anaesthetist know that it would be just good manners to make sure I stayed sedated until after all digits and instruments had been removed from every orifice.)
It was a natural cycle and, despite my late night Cetrotide, it didn’t seem to interfere with the Ovitrelle, because they managed to retrieve one good-looking egg, which of course is cause for celebration because one is better than none. But in this game nothing is really cause for celebration. Or everything is. Because there are so many hurdles. And you have to clear all of them, in succession, to get to where you want to be. Continue reading
So when I started writing this post, it was a bit tongue in cheek, a bit “this is kind of what I’m thinking and I’m aware that it’s bonkers but let’s go with it because it’s quite funny.” I even opened it with the words “This is a bit of a weird post, but it’s something that’s slightly been gnawing away at the back of my mind, despite my sane and rational self telling me that I’m totally mental.”
So as you may recall, the new plan was three rounds of IVF, the first of which helpfully kicked off when I was on holiday — oh the lolz, I can’t even. To start with there’s the fact I’m not drinking. I can get away with the health kick fallacy when I’m dressed — I’m 40 FFS I’ve had years of figuring out how to hide the lumps I hate and flaunt the bumps I don’t — but when I’m in a bikini and my stomach is Continue reading
…and maybe this is why it didn’t feel like last time, maybe this is why I felt disengaged, maybe because on some level, somewhere, I had some inkling that this was going to happen.
Because ‘this’ was the call that I got today, from a stranger that I’d never spoken to before (but more on that in another post, another time) telling me that of the five eggs that had defrosted successfully, 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
When you think about, it would be a total miracle. I mean, I know science has done everything possible to optimise the chances – I’ve been given hormones to optimise the development of my eggs; my thyroid function has been checked and tweaked; the – one assumes – weakest eggs will have been weeded out by the freezing and defrosting process; I’ve not just got any old sperm but sperm that has been rigorously – I hope – health-checked; and nobody’s left it to chance that this sperm will fertilise the eggs, Continue reading
I’ve been thinking this for quite a long time — in fact I feel like I probably wrote about it when I was freezing my eggs — but this whole thing from start to finish is, if you think about it, totally fucking insane. I have — to date — paid out the best part of £20,000 — twenty GRAND! And what do I have to show for it? I have taken SO MUCH on trust.
Seriously, think about it. Normally when you have medical treatment Continue reading
…well two days actually. Today was the day of my final egg collection and, maybe it’s because I’m still feeling the afterglow of a prosecco-fuelled celebratory lunch courtesy of my great friend, J, (N.B. I’m pretty sure medics don’t advise this as the best course of action post a sedated procedure, so do as they advise rather than as I do); or maybe it’s because this final cycle produced seven eggs – as many as my first two cycles put together; or maybe it’s because everyone I saw at the clinic today Continue reading