Okay, I've been putting this post off. Mainly because I've been too stressed and upset to bother writing anything yet, but also because I wanted a better picture of what was going on before I did. However, once again I realised that I really should be documenting every little thing that happens to me on this hellish ride, otherwise there's not much point to this blog.
So, where do I start? We went in for our procedures two days ago. Firstly, Alan gave a sample of ejaculate, and soon after the lab scientist confirmed with him that there were no sperm found. No surprises there. He was then whisked off to the hospital across the road to be prepped for TESA/PESA. I had to sit for two and a half hours in the waiting room of the clinic before it was my turn. The first person I spoke to was the same scientist; she reiterated that there was nothing in the ejaculate, and she told me the latest from the TESA procedure: nothing in the first teste that they examined, and they were now checking the other. She confirmed with me that we were all good to go ahead with the donor sperm if they didn't find anything. I then spoke to a nurse, who talked me through what was going to be happening for the rest of the day. I got escorted to hospital admissions, and was seen to in the day procedure ward quite quickly, as obviously EPUs need to be done at a fairly precise time.
Nothing new to say about the EPU experience aside from the fact it was at a different hospital. Glenn (my FS) was playing Solitaire on his phone when I walked into the theatre for my procedure, and "Elevation" by U2 was playing on the stereo, hehehe. After I woke up, I was very anxious to get back to Alan, who by the time I finally did, had been discharged and had been waiting back at the clinic for me for two or three hours. Eventually we were called in to see the scientist, who confirmed that there was no sperm found at all, and that my eggs were going to be ICSI'd with our chosen donor sperm. Blow #1. Alan was understandably very sad, and when we got home was questioning whether we should perhaps be getting his condition thoroughly investigated by a urologist, to see if it's something that could be reversed, even if it took months or years of treatment. I don't hold out much hope, to be frank, but if he chooses to do this I will support him.
I had a minor disappointment myself in that we only got 8 eggs. It's not a bad number, by any means, but after the number of follicles I had I really was expecting a couple more. This was Blow #2, mostly because I'd convinced myself that I would get significantly better egg numbers with an antagonist cycle, but it obviously did not turn out to be the case.
Blow #3 came yesterday morning. I was anxiously awaiting my phone call from the lab where they would tell me how many of my eggs fertilised overnight. I was hoping for at least 4; that would have been 50% and there's nothing terribly wrong with that. I also "knew" that with donor sperm, which is meant to be better than average quality, we had a really good chance of getting a few zygotes/embryos for the first time ever. So it was with both nerves and confidence that I answered the phone. The scientist explained to me that of the 8 eggs, 5 were mature, and 2 had matured later in the lab, and that although the latter will not usually fertilise, they still ICSI'd all 7 with the donor sperm.
And two fertilised. Two. All I could utter was a deflated, "Oh." She said, "Yes, that was much less than we expected." Oh, really??? I held it together until Alan asked to speak to her, because he wanted to arrange a time to meet with Glenn to ask about investigating his infertility further. After that, all I could do was hide my face in my hands as my mind went nuts, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. I was suddenly filled with doubts as to whether my eggs are as good quality as they should be for someone of my age and health. Otherwise how could this have happened? There is a chance that the donor sperm is not all it cracked up to be, but I just don't think that's very likely. I had a big ugly cry all over Alan, and spent the rest of the day trying (and mostly failing) to distract myself. Even though it's not standard procedure for the lab to call you with updates between the fert. results and the transfer (except sometimes on Day 4 if things aren't looking hopeful for the transfer), I had been told before discharge the previous afternoon that I could call them every day if I wanted. If I'd had four or more fertilise, I wouldn't have bothered, but for only two eggs, I resolved to do this.
So this morning after anxiously waiting till a reasonable time (9am), I nervously phoned the clinic and asked to speak to the lab. The receptionist asked me if I was after embyro updates, and then told me that the lab staff were busy doing procedures in the morning and wouldn't be able to answer, plus they don't check embryos till the afternoon. So she put me through to their answering machine, where I left my name and number and quite literally informed them "I was just wondering if my embryos actually survived through the night." Then I had a few hours more to anxiously wait.
They finally called me at around 1:30pm. The scientist I spoke to told me that today they were checking purely for cell division, and that I had one embryo at 2 cells, and one at 4 cells. I felt dizzy with relief. I asked her if they could please call me on Saturday and Sunday too (if either or both are still growing by then) as I wanted daily updates, which she said was fine.
Day 2 embryos are meant to be between 2 - 4 cells, so they are both bang on target. So that is one hurdle down... I have embryos in culture for the first time ever. Not zygotes, which are then stupidly and hurriedly transferred before we know what they're going to do. Actual, real embryos. Very very early ones, and they could arrest before tomorrow even. But there is a tiny glimmer of hope. I am now even more nervous though, because there is so much more to lose. If I'd have been told today that they hadn't divided, I would have been very sad, but resigned. But if I get told they've arrested tomorrow, or Sunday, or (please no!) Monday, the devestation I will feel will get exponentially worse each day that passes.
If I do end up having a blasty to transfer on Monday, I will feel like the luckiest person ever. At this stage I don't even care if it sticks, just the transfer will make the whole cycle feel worthwhile. And I am putting this in writing so that if I am lucky enough to get a transfer, but I don't fall pregnant, I can look back on this and remember how desperate I was to get that far, and to maybe "appreciate" the progress we have made this cycle a bit more. Fine in theory, of course!
However, regardless of what happens, I will still be asking Glenn on Monday as to whether he thinks my eggs might be crap. Because if so, I need to start taking supplements that could possibly help for future cycles, such as royal jelly and/or CoQ10.
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