One year ago my husband and I sat in the RE’s office and were given the news that natural conception was never in our cards and that it was straight to IVF+ICSI. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Worst April Fool’s ever.
After over a year of trying with no results, this news was equal parts heartbreaking and relieving. Heartbreaking because we knew whatever road that was ahead of us would be hell. Relieving because it was now officially out of our hands. We knew our problem. We knew the only possible solution. We had a plan.
Over the last year, we have gone through 2 egg retrievals and 3 transfers. I currently find myself a day away from 10 weeks pregnant with our only embryo from IVF #2 and I can’t help but reflect a little. In the grand scheme of things, one year is nothing. I know people try for many many years without success, so the idea that a year after our crushing news, we could have found success, is an amazing thing.
I still feel little twinges of jealousy though, and I don’t think those will ever go away. I know this will be our only child unless we choose to go the donor route in a few years. I watch my friends with their children and think “Why couldn’t that have been us?” Half of them got pregnant within 3 months of trying and I’m jealous that I’ll never have the experience of getting to create a baby with my husband in our own bed during an intimate moment.
But I’m happy. I’m scared to admit to even myself, but I am so insanely happy. Before this transfer worked, I was preparing to start looking for sperm donors and researching embryo adoption. The idea that in 7 months, I might have a baby that is actually part me and part my husband? That brings up feelings that I can’t even accurately describe in words.
So here’s to this worst year of my fucking life. It taught me more about myself and my marriage than I ever dreamed possible. I wouldn’t wish this shit storm on my worst enemy. And I hope Monday brings good news.