IVF part 4: the transfer and the wait

The day before we found out the result of our frozen egg transfer was one of the most anxious days I can remember. It was as if my heart rate had dialled up to 140bpm. Like I’d had ten coffees, no food and watched a horror movie, only I hadn’t. t couldn’t concentrate. I was so worried.

That was around eight days after our transfer. On the day of our transfer I’d have seven blood tests in the build up. I was convinced I had a UTI, but a test suggested otherwise. I was so nervous. The procedure itself went well enough, apart from my bladder nearly exploding. We’d had to wait an extra fifteen minutes or so than expected. By the time we got into the transfer room I had to wriggle my feet to stop myself from bursting. It wasn’t ideal. The staff double checked our details on the test tube. That made sense. It was rather important. And the transfer itself went well, it seemed. We went home with a little photo of our guy, a blastocyst, “hatching” out of his shell and ready to stick. We hoped.

I felt a certain relief after the transfer was successful. I had hugged the gynaecologist in tears, and he didn’t know how to react. But soon the stress flooded back. I was sure I had a UTI. I went to my GP who diagnosed it immediately. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a UTI diagnosed. It could affect the embryo. I flipped out. Then our three year old started vomiting in the early hours of the morning, for the first time probably in a year. If I caught a tummy bug it could affect the embryo. WTF. Why was this happening?! The more I tried to calm myself down, the more stressed I seemed to become.

It was the day we found out the result that I reached a tipping point. I had barely slept. I woke early and stared at the ceiling. I was sure I should be able to get a result on a pregnancy test. Maybe I should just do one. But I only had another two days to wait. My boobs didn’t feel sore any more. That always happens right before I get a period. That was the final straw. I bawled. I couldn’t go to work. I bawled some more.

My gut feeling was right. The next morning, the day before our official test, I got my period. The anxiety fell away almost instantly and in its place a blanket of numbness and sadness shrouded me. I was transported back to some of my darkest days in this process. I didn’t want to see anyone. I was no longer hungry. I didn’t want to talk. I had my first beer in ages and it was good and bad – all the pain came gushing out and I sobbed on the couch by myself. While I felt like an utter failure as a woman I was at least thankful that the anxiety had left me.

It’s now a couple of days later. I don’t really know where to from here. We have one more chance. I am terrified of what it means if we don’t succeed. I’ve adjusted my expectations so many times that I feel we may be reaching the end of all of this.

IVF part 3: survival of the fittest

The IVF process from egg collection onwards is a real eye opener.

Our egg collection process retrieved 24 eggs. Then, at the party-in-a-petri-dish on day one ¬†23 eggs were fertilised. 15 embryos “hatched” on day three. 13 embryos survived to blastocyst stage on day five. They were all biopsied for pre-genetic testing and then frozen.

They told us that 13 embryos was a ludicrously good result. I felt confident and happy, even if I was a little uneasy at the thought that we had a football team (and reserves) sitting on ice.

Our guys were biopsied on day five and those biopsied cells were sent away for testing, to see if there were any chromosomal abnormalities.  Given our history, it was the sensible thing to do. When I received the call from my gynaecologist exactly a month after the egg collection I realised just how sensible it was.

Only two out of the 13 embryos tested as “normal”. Embryo number 4 and embryo number 6. Three were “inconclusive”. The remainder were “abnormal”. I was shocked. What did this mean? We still do not really know, except they their cell division was not normal and the abnormalities appeared to be random. I called my husband straight away. As I heard his voice I started shaking and crying, and had to babble “it’s not as bad as it sounds!” quickly so that he wouldn’t worry. I told him the news. He was gobsmacked too.

It took a few days to come around from the shock of only two of our “guys” surviving to believing that two was a good result in the end and meant that we had a real chance of finally getting off the mouse wheel of infertility.