So I took a hiatus. From social media, from reading and obsessing, from tracking and counting.
It was good for my heart and soul.
The sadness after transfer #4 was all-encompassing. Going into round 2 we felt so sure that this had all been terrible luck, and we just needed to go again, and pinned far too many starry-eyed hopes on that embryo. The negative result was crushing.
I’d go through my day in a numb haze and then find myself getting into bed at 8pm to cry. I’d try and fill my waking moments with podcasts and YouTube; there wasn’t going to be a moment free to think about the emptiness. My uterus felt heavy and hollow and my chest hurt. Everything hurt.
In early March, I went back to the specialist, and he assured me hope was not lost. He was impressed with our 2 remaining embryos and he felt we had a good chance. But my continued difficulty with transfers was probably affecting our chances, and it was time to do something about it.
We scheduled a hysteroscopy and dilatation. And with my health insurance, we could do it in 2 weeks. It was all go.
Right before I went into hospital for the surgery, we put down a deposit on something very special. And then there was Maisie.
I wasn’t trying to be that infertile woman who gives up and goes and gets a dog, but we decided it was time and we were tired of waiting. Maisie is a spoodle: half poodle, half cocker spaniel, with soft downy fur and sweet eyes. She veers between wild excitement, holding our house hostage with her feistiness, and sleepy puppy. She took over our lives and made us totally forget all of this mess.
Surgery went well and took about 26 minutes, with my surgeon/specialist considering it a success. My uterus looked good, my tubes were clear, and everything was dilated as expected, to help future transfers.
Now, he said, we could get going again. Once my cycle restarted, we’d be back on the drugs. One of these embryos would be thawed and we’d give it all another go.
And so the wait begins.