For the love of god, body.

Day THIRTY FUCKING ONE of the cycle that just won’t end.

I went off the pill in January of 2015 and have been tracking my cycles ever since. I went back through the history and I’ve never had a cycle longer than 29 days (and curiously, that was the cycle after my first egg retrieval). 27 days is probably about 70% of my cycles. A few 26’s and 28’s sprinkled in there. So WHAT THE FUCK body?!

I just took a pregnancy test when I got home from work not too long ago. Big ole negative. I’ve never EVER skipped a period – not before the pill, not in the last 2 years. I’m under a normal amount of stress. No lifestyle changes. So truly, body, BRAVO. You have sunk to new levels of annoyance to me. I have all the impending period doom symptoms. My back has been hurting for like a week now. Cramps and twinges in the uterus region. Bloating like a bitch. But nothing. Not even a spot.

Stupid me starting crying when it came up negative. All day I had convinced myself that this was going to be some freak of nature conception. Like, we would fall into that less than 1% chance (yes, I researched it).

I’m tired, y’all. Next week marks 1 year since we got the results of my husband’s first SA after 1 year of actively trying and realized that pregnancy wasn’t going to be easily achieved. I know in the grand scheme of infertility, 2 years is nothing. But I’m feeling it. I’ve dreamt of being pregnant and having babies my entire life and a year ago, I was so optimistic. I’m just tired. Today proves that I still have some optimism left in me, however misplaced. It also proves that reality is a cruel bitch and she has no issue slapping you in the face when she feels like it.

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I’m angry.

That is how I feel right now. We have one frozen embryo to show for this cycle. I need to start preparing myself for a childfree life and I’m not ready for that.

I’m angry that my husband’s lack of sperm has put us in this position.

I’m angry at the RE for giving me hope with the new protocol.

I’m angry at the lab for waiting until FIVE FUCKING O’CLOCK to call me with the news that they all arrested but 1.

I’m angry at myself for being unable to produce more eggs and more chances.

I’m just really fucking angry.

And…if you’re going to tell me that “It only takes one” – please don’t. I am 100% aware that yes, it only takes one. I want to wallow right now.

Zen has left the building.

Alright, who had day 3 as when I lose my shit? Anyone? Anyone?

Okay, slight exaggeration. But today is the first day I’ve cried and officially begun to lose optimism about IVF #2.

Got the day 3 update and we still have 5 excellent embryos, 1 average, and 3 below average. The other 2 never fertilized so they were discarded. This time last cycle we had 8 excellent and 3 average and we only ended up with 2 blastocysts, both of which were failures. So…basically we’re fucked. If we only have 1 or 2 embryos again on day 5, we’ll opt out of PGS because it isn’t worth the $2,500 to only test 1 or 2. They’ll call again on Tuesday to let me know if any are still worth keeping.

So…the extra $1,000 of meds and the 3 months of vitamins/supplements have done precisely DICK and I can’t fucking handle this right now.

In other news, our 5 year wedding anniversary was yesterday. So…yay!

Well that escalated quickly.

Surprise! Period showed up this morning so I got to make the lovely call and I start birth control pills tomorrow. I had a pleasant (SAID DRIPPING WITH SARCASM) chat with the new IVF coordinator. Don’t get me wrong, she seems incredibly sweet, but it was a very frustrating afternoon for me.

Apparently my clinic batches cycles. I never realized this. Their next stim start isn’t until 11/27 (happy fucking Thanksgiving to me) and they want me on BCPs until the 23rd. I was only on them for 13 days last time. Last we checked, my AMH was 1.2. Not DOR territory yet, but not awesome. They only retrieved 12 eggs with the last cycle and are shooting for similar or more this time. I flat out asked if there was concern for being over-suppressed and she said she would check with the RE, but she didn’t seem to think it would be an issue.

She went over the dates with me and promised to email me a calendar later in the afternoon. It wasn’t until I opened said calendar that I went off the rails for the dumbest reasons. My baseline sono? The day after Thanksgiving. My estimated retrieval? 12/8. Also known as 2 days before our 5th wedding anniversary, so any celebration we may have planned is now gone. Oh, and my husband’s company Christmas party falls on stims day 7. I’m sure I will be a lovely pleasant person for that.

Because I am an emotional train wreck, I immediately called my husband crying. Poor guy. I started the call by assuring him that I was crying for stupid reasons and I knew it but I just wanted someone to tell me everything was going to be ok. I explained the schedule and then apologized for ruining Thanksgiving, his Christmas party, and our anniversary. I know. A wreck, I tell you. He took it 100% in stride and said none of that mattered and that his priorities are with me and me alone.

Seriously. There’s a reason I married this dude.

I think it hit me so hard because it’s just another reminder of how IVF has taken over our lives and doesn’t give a fuck what we want. I was so excited about this anniversary. And now I will be curled up on the couch with a heating pad. Romantic. I love Thanksgiving…but now we have to cancel plans so I can get an ultrasound. I will now have to field a thousand questions about why I’m not drinking from people that don’t know we’re going through IVF.

UGHHHH.

 

Aaaand hope is dead.

7 days past transfer. Negative first response test. Fuck. That’s two failed transfers now.

I don’t know if I have the strength to go through another entire cycle. I’m angry at the world. I’m angry that my husband can’t make sperm. I’m angry that we may be facing a vast expanse of infinite life with no children. I’m just fucking angry.

Big fat failure.

That’s me! A big fat fucking failure.

Negative beta, obviously. IVF #1 is officially a failure. My RE herself called. I like her a lot, but breaking this news was not her strong point. She mentioned multiple times that it had been a textbook perfect blastocyst. Thanks. So it’s clearly my piece of shit body that messed this whole thing up. If I can’t even manage to implant a perfect embryo, then I’m fucked for the FET with my “less than perfect” one.

I know it was stupid to get my hopes up. But I did. I hoped so badly that this would work. Odds were on our side. She gave it a 60% chance. Right now it just feels like we flushed $17,000 down the drain. Because we did. Literally.

She’s leaving it up to me to decide if we want to go straight into the FET cycle or to take a cycle off and then come back. I’m leaning towards taking a cycle off. Because I need to get my shit together emotionally and physically. I have felt so out of control of my body over the last month. I want myself back.

Calling my husband was the worst. The absolute worst. He was sad, kept saying that we would do this as many times as I wanted. I just kept apologizing to him. It’s my fault. All I had to do was let the little fucker implant. And I failed. He swore up and down that he didn’t blame me at all. But…I don’t know.

I ended up leaving work early because I just can’t concentrate right now. I just want my husband to be home with me because I have never needed a hug like I do right now. Luckily I have my dogs here and they are fantastic cuddlebugs.

So to recap. I feel like a failure that will never have kids (holy dramatic overreaction, Batman, right?). But I have this face to love on. So I’ve got that going for me, right? 🙂

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I caved.

I bought a pack of First Response Early Result tests. Today is 6 days past my 5 day transfer. It is the gold standard of pregnancy tests.

Big. Fat. Fucking. Negative.

I know it’s still early. I know I’m not officially out until the beta on Wednesday says I’m out. But this gave me the nice kick to the face that I needed to start preparing for the news that I will be part of the 45% statistic of failed cycles at my clinic. My boobs don’t really hurt any more like they did the first few days. I think all these cramps and backaches are simply my period trying to start.

Beta is Wednesday, so I’ll test that morning just to mentally prep myself. They’ll be breaking the news to me by phone call either way, so if it’s bad, I want to have the official meltdown at home before work instead of in the middle of the office. But if it’s good, I want my husband to be there. So either way…Wednesday awaits. God I want a drink so badly.

The odds are not in our favor.

I’m really rolling with the Hunger Games comparisons aren’t I? Day 4 embryologist update and I am just…done…emotionally. I have no optimism left to fake at this point.

From 8 “excellent” and 3 “average” yesterday, we are down to 1 “beautiful” morula that they will transfer tomorrow, and 1 early blastocyst that will most likely get frozen. All the others are lagging behind and will most likely be lost to us. From 12 at retrieval to 2. A whopping 15% survival rate. Yeah. Given all of this information, and the fact that we are just that unlucky, I’m thinking parenthood ain’t happening for us.

My husband is still optimistic that we still have 2 chances, although he’s definitely shaken up. I’m already at the “fuck this” stage. I know the odds. They’re shit. Time to start mentally preparing myself to be the fun aunt to everyone else’s kids, because we can’t afford to do all of this again. I can’t spend yet another $16,000.

I know I’m being emotional and dramatic. I know this. I apologize to everyone out there rolling their eyes at me. I’m sure I’ll look back on this some day and laugh at how emo I’m being.

Well. Shit.