And so, as you might reasonably have expected, and as I might have slightly given away in my last post, given how contrarily these things go, the fact that I was so convinced it wasn’t going to work meant that when, on the morning we were going away for the weekend, and I did a precautionary First Response test, it showed the faintest of faint – but still very definitely there – lines.
Or, as I put it to B when I walked back into the bedroom “Well I’m not ‘Not Pregnant’.” But I wasn’t going to get too excited. It was early. It could be a chemical pregnancy. It wasn’t a thing until it was a thing.
But then, when I did another test 48 hours later, that line was definitely darker. And 48 hours after that, the blood test confirmed that, that day at least, I was pregnant. Because that was how I thought of it. That’s how I’ve continued to think about it. On those fertility forums I despise, I’ve seen women talk about being “PUPO” – Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise, but after the miscarriage, after everything we’ve been through, I feel quite the opposite. I feel like “that day I know I was definitely pregnant but until the next blood test / scan, I can’t assume I still am.”
Working women often talk about how they feel that whatever they’re doing is wrong. They feel permanently guilty that they’re not doing “enough” for either their children or their careers. Finding out that I was pregnant catapulted me into a host of similar dilemmas. Did I carry on exercising as I had been? Or stop entirely? Should I contact my old clinic and ask them to prescribe more of the progesterone injections, the clexane blood thinners, the whatever the fuck else they throw at the women who manage to get pregnant on a wing and a prayer and want to stay pregnant? Or just carry on taking the Pregnacare Max that I’ve been taking for years as if it were a multivitamin?
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
…And I thought I’d give you an update. Quite a long one. It’s not very Christmassy, sorry. There are no babies in mangers. Quite the opposite, in fact. But something happened yesterday that made me want to write again, so here I am.
First the good news. We’re still together. Nearly two years after we first met, we’re still together — living together, buying property together, trying to have a child together.
I’m not going to pretend it’s all hearts and flowers. Enmeshing two lives is never straightforward. Especially when you’re not 25 any more. And to be fair, it’s not me that has taken the brunt of the upheaval. I’m still living in the same house that I’ve been living in for nearly 15 years, surrounded by my friends.
He’s the one who turned his life upside down. Continue reading
I rather feel like I’ve bigged up this Plan so I hope you’re not disappointed by it. Basically, The Plan came about when I went to see my consultant to have the post-unsuccessful IVF debrief — or the “what the fuck went wrong chat” as I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it called on other blogs.
Anyway, I sat in front of my consultant and said, “So, we had one grade 1 embryo and it failed to implant. And I understand that there may be many reasons for this, but what can we do minimise the likelihood of these being reasons why the same thing doesn’t happen again?”
And that was when she told me about Continue reading
… in that I’m not pregnant.
It shouldn’t really be that much of a surprise – who gets pregnant on their first round of IVF with one embryo? Well obviously some people do but not me. And while the logical part of my brain had committed to at least three, maybe more, cycles, there was a sliver of me thinking, “It could be me, I could be one of the lucky ones…”
And now, I’m going to sound like a complete dick, but I’m going to say it anyway. I don’t really know how to fail at stuff. I’ve passed every exam Continue reading
That’s what they say, isn’t it? About so many things. About whether you should be marrying that man. About whether that’s the right dress to get married in. About whether you’re pregnant.
When people have said that in the past about marriage, I’ve always (usually silently) disputed that. Always thought I never just know whether I’m putting the right clothes on in the morning, let alone whether I should be spending the rest of my life with one specific person. I don’t think you just know, I think you just hope. I think you Continue reading
I constantly have two conflicting series of thoughts in my head:
– why should it work first time around?
– well sometimes it does, doesn’t it?
– but you know you were thinking you’d do at least three rounds?
– well yes, but what if you can’t even get three embryos from your eggs?
– you need to stop thinking negatively, one day at a time, remember?
– I know but I need to prepare myself to not fall apart if I’m not pregnant
– ONE. DAY. AT. A. TIME
That cognitive dissonance my friend was talking about. It could drive a person mad. And it 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