Trigger warning: Infertility and IVF failure
I try to never get carried away with things because that way disappointment lies. Also, because I’m from Coventry and we never get excited about anything ever. It’s not in our genetic make up. So, when I underwent IVF in November, I told myself to not get carried away. I expressly warned myself not to. So, of course I did, didn’t I?
I didn’t outwardly get carried away, just inside my head.
Our IVF journey was a tough old slog. I was too fat and so
was referred to the infertility team as well as the bariatric service. I had most of my stomach removed to qualify
for IVF, just missed out on free IVF because my BMI was 32 and its free for
those (aged 39 and 11 months or younger) with BMI of 30 or below. Missed out
due to age and being fat.
Before my bariatric surgery, I remember sitting in the IKEA cafĂ© one Saturday with David and stating that if we don’t qualify for free IVF, we won’t pay for it. We wanted to (and still do) be parents and so we’d go down the adoption route. He agreed and we shook on it over a slice of Daim cake.
I mentioned the Daim Cake Deal to my mam and she instantly
offered to pay for a round of IVF. I turned her down because it’s an astronomical
amount of money for something that isn’t guaranteed. I didn’t want her to waste money.
So, as mentioned, we didn’t qualify for free IVF. I mentioned to friends about my mam’s offer
and everyone told me I should take her up on it because obviously she loves me
and she’d benefit too, she only has one grandchild. And you know your mam always wants good
things for you so after discussion, we agreed.
David’s dad paid for the first round of medications.
So we waited. And we waited some more. Every month I got my
period, I called the Centre for Reproductive Medicine (CRM from here on in) to
arrange for a transvaginal ultrasound on day three of my period (not nearly as
fun as it sounds…) and there was always something, my womb lining was too thick
or there was already a follicle (egg) forming in my ovary. It took forever.
In the meantime, one of my best friends had been through IVF
and been successful so I took heart from that. My circle of best friends is so
close knit and tight. There are seven of us and yeah we occasionally have
squabbles and fall outs, but I love them all.
Only thing now, I’m the only childless one in the group and it can get
really difficult when we chat or meet up because they all have a shared
experience of pregnancy and having children and I don’t have that. And obviously the conversations about their
kids can get to me because I have literally nothing to add. And that’s no-ones fault but sometimes I feel
a bit left out, even though they do their best to not do that. They’re a brilliant bunch of strong funny smart
women and I love the bones of them all. Following
the IVF failure I got a beautiful bunch of flowers and chocolates from them. In fact, the house resembled a florists at one
point!
COVID delayed treatment as well and then some of our
medications had run out so we had to buy MORE. It really was a shitty time of
it. But I soldiered on, did the injections ready for the egg retrieval. Eggs retrieved on 20 November under sedation,
legs clamped apart with my fanny on show to the world and his wife.
When I came round, the consultant who did the retrieval came
and saw me and told me that they’d managed to retrieve two single eggs. Just two.
He couldn’t retrieve from my left ovary because they discovered that day
that my left ovary is attached to my abdomen and he couldn’t get in to get them
without injuring me severely. So two
teeny tiny eggs, and I heard him telling the other women on the ward how many
eggs he’d retrieved from them and I had a bit of a cry. Surely it wasn’t ever going to work for us
was it? Before I left, the andrologist
came and told me that they’d fertilised the two eggs and they’d call me the
next day to let me know how they got on.
Against everything, they both fertilised. I’d prepared to be
devastated then but no it was great news.
They’d began to divide. I went
back on the Monday for both fertilised eggs to be put back in (another legs
clamped apart, fanny on show). I’d joked
with a friend about them replacing them with a blow pipe. I nicknamed them my little space invaders.
Then the two week wait.
And that’s when my imagination took over. Of COURSE they were both going to develop and
become babies, and they would be twin girls, my warrior queens: Juno and Hera.
One red head like me, one dark haired like David. Strong tough independent
women. It was going to perfect. I was
going to be as good a mama as I could be, having learned from the best, my own
mam and David is just made to be a dad. Due
to the medication I was on, I was getting pregnancy symptoms down to the
heightened sense of smell.
I’d hoped for an early Xmas present when I took the first pregnancy
test on 7 December. But it wasn’t to be. I did another test, naively and of
course it was negative. We cried
together, David’s sobs were from his very soul, I haven’t heard him cry like
that since his mum died. I instantly
apologised to him and he asked why I was apologising. I felt it was my fault, I
felt like I failed him and everyone. I can’t
describe the feelings of guilt I had, and still do have to some extent even
though realistically I KNOW its not my fault.
Telling our parents was so horrible, my mam was in tears and
so was David’s dad when he phoned him to let him know. I apologised to them too. I felt like I’d let
them down, and it was an expensive failure too.
It affected me so much that the GP signed me off with
depression due to a grief reaction. I start back tomorrow, I think I’m ready.
We had Xmas coming up and I was not looking forward to it at
all but it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be although obviously not as amazing
as if I had been pregnant.
Weird things triggered me like seeing a pack of invitations
to a Baby Shower, not something I’d have wanted but just now I couldn’t have
one. Didn’t want to go out, that’s where babies and happy couples with babies
and toddlers and pregnant people were. I’ve Why Me’d virtually every day since
That Day. And people with their ‘well it
wasn’t meant to be’ or ‘this is all part of your journey’, I mean I know you
mean well but you can fuck ALL the way off with that.
Occasionally, we sit at the weekend, usually after too much
gin, and cry about our lost warrior queens, about how unfair it is. I feel like I’ve lost a part of me when I got
the negative result, I’ve lost some of the shine in my eyes. It was a part of
our lives for so long and then it just ended like that. And if I had the money, I wouldn’t go through
it again. The whole experience has taken its toll on my mental health and I’ve
had enough people looking at my fanny, thanks.
We’re getting there. We need to be six months clear of IVF
before we can consider adoption. Or we might just get a rescue greyhound and
have done with it.
To Juno and Hera, our Tiny Warrior Queens.
