After 4 failed IVFs, my wife and I were placing all out last hopes on number 5. It was sh*t or bust time - there was no way J's body (or her emotions) were going to survive another round.
The omens weren't looking good. Only two of the eight embryos were progressing well. Embryo transfer was on Friday the 13th. The others that we left to go to blastocyst all perished. Severely bruised ovaries meant lots of pain.
This was our first full attempt at a new clinic, and as a consequence the first time we'd done the 'pee on a stick' test with IVF. The other clinic brought you in for a blood test as the first action, which (since my wife hates needles) wasn't the most stress-free route. Then the horrendous phone call always followed. This time she peed. The first pee of the day - bleary-eyed and spiky haired. She immediately dropped the test on the side of the bath and ran downstairs - she couldn't bear the disappointment of a failed test. I waited next to the plastic stick, watch in hand for timing. A few seconds in and already the result was showing.
"How accurate are these tests?" I enquired of J. "Oh no...don't say it's a no...they're 99% accurate," she replied. "Not again," she sighed from where she lay at the top of the stairs. I wandered out of the bathroom, holding the white pipe for her to see. "Then I guess that means you're pregnant then..." Her shrieking and flooding of tears could probably have been heard on the moon. At one stage I thought she was hysterical and I might have to slap her - not the best start to one's pregnancy...
I'll never forget the look on her face. Nor the bursting, burning love I felt for her.
16 months later and the twins are 7 months old. Ella is just starting to crawl and Ollie isn't far behind. The sleep deprivation is horrendous, the poo and puke and constant. But I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.
3 comments:
Holy shit, holy shit. Sending good thoughts and deep breaths.
That's so very, very exciting. What a HUGE number. Best of luck with the u/s!
After 4 failed IVFs, my wife and I were placing all out last hopes on number 5. It was sh*t or bust time - there was no way J's body (or her emotions) were going to survive another round.
The omens weren't looking good. Only two of the eight embryos were progressing well. Embryo transfer was on Friday the 13th. The others that we left to go to blastocyst all perished. Severely bruised ovaries meant lots of pain.
This was our first full attempt at a new clinic, and as a consequence the first time we'd done the 'pee on a stick' test with IVF. The other clinic brought you in for a blood test as the first action, which (since my wife hates needles) wasn't the most stress-free route. Then the horrendous phone call always followed. This time she peed. The first pee of the day - bleary-eyed and spiky haired. She immediately dropped the test on the side of the bath and ran downstairs - she couldn't bear the disappointment of a failed test. I waited next to the plastic stick, watch in hand for timing. A few seconds in and already the result was showing.
"How accurate are these tests?" I enquired of J. "Oh no...don't say it's a no...they're 99% accurate," she replied. "Not again," she sighed from where she lay at the top of the stairs. I wandered out of the bathroom, holding the white pipe for her to see. "Then I guess that means you're pregnant then..." Her shrieking and flooding of tears could probably have been heard on the moon. At one stage I thought she was hysterical and I might have to slap her - not the best start to one's pregnancy...
I'll never forget the look on her face. Nor the bursting, burning love I felt for her.
16 months later and the twins are 7 months old. Ella is just starting to crawl and Ollie isn't far behind. The sleep deprivation is horrendous, the poo and puke and constant. But I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.
The best of luck - it's a thrill ride.
Jezzafuji
(A newbie to your blog)
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