I started spotting late yesterday afternoon, after POAS (just a cheapie) at lunchtime; a sure-fire way to get AF started! Can't believe it worked. Then again, it could have also been my acupuncture appointment yesterday morning... she did use the delightful heat lamp on my belly (mmm, my best friend!), which may have done something too.
So anyway, here I am, at the base of this gigantic mountain that I'm about to start climbing... I can see the peak in the far distance, as I squint into the sun. About a 14-day trek, I estimate, give or take. Once I reach the top, I don't know what will happen. I could be setting up camp for nine months, which would be ideal, but there is also a very real chance that I will trip and stumble, and plummet down the horrifyingly sheer precipice on the other side. It's happened five times now, but I've kept climbing the same mountain over and over again, hoping that for once I will keep my balance. However, if I'm to fall yet again, this time I will let the river far below carry me along a different path to a brand new mountain, which will hopefully not be as steep or high, and won't have any trip hazards at the top. I'll also have another lady climbing alongside me, so her presence will steady me, and if I start to teeter, she can grab my wrist and drag me to safety.
But for now, I'll secure my spiked boots (Gonal-F), equip myself with climbing picks (Saizen and Orgalutran), tighten my harness (the arms of my amazing husband), and be on my way... wish me luck.
It's been so long since I've written a blog entry, and I've done a whole FET cycle in that time. I didn't feel like writing at all during the process, for various reasons. But I can't just ignore it, so I'm going to tell the whole story in one hit.
As you're well aware, if you've read my previous entries, I had very little faith in my frozen embryo, so I went into this recent cycle with zero expectations, convincing myself that I wasn't even going to have a transfer and that the whole thing would be a bust. I started taking Progynova tablets as per the FET HRT cycle treatment plan, then went for my first scan on CD 12 to see what my lining was doing. FS and I were disappointed to see that it was only 6.6mm. He told me to increase my dose of Progynova by one extra tablet a day (so I was on 4 a day now), and to come back in three days for another scan. Did so, and surprise surprise, my lining was still 6.6mm!! In fact, the first two measurements he took were 5.2mm and 5.7mm, but when he zoomed in closer he managed to get 6.6mm again. I couldn't believe that the Progynova was having ZERO effect! He told me to increase AGAIN to 6 tablets a day, and instead of swallowing them, to dissolve them under my tongue so that they absorbed directly into my bloodstream instead of digestively. He told me that the liver and everything can sometimes kick in when you swallow tablets and eliminates the hormone instead of letting your body absorb it..... I really really hope that this isn't what is happening with my DHEA!
Anyway, my lining had the magic "triple stripe" which FS said you need to be able to fall pg, and is much more important than lining thickness, so he said my transfer would still go ahead, but we'll wait another three days to see what my lining had done. So, back for another probing with the dildo-cam three days later, and wow! My lining measurement had shot up to 7.9mm! They like it to be at least 8 for transfer, so I was on track and my emby thaw and transfer was scheduled for four days later, and I was told to go home and take my first Crinone to simulate ovulation day as the previous day.
The next few days was spent wondering whether it was even worth "wasting" all this Crinone when I knew there was a chance that my one little frostie Sheldrick wouldn't survive thawing. On the day of transfer, I was so freaking nervous. I spent the morning working on my wedding scrapbook, but I had my phone right next to me and kept eyeing it with trepidation. I was so sure it was going to ring any second with bad news. Meanwhile I had no idea whether they'd bother calling me if it was good news, so when "Blocked" popped up on my screen at around 11am, along with the horrible generic iPhone ringtone I use, I nearly jumped out of my skin... and I think I actually said, "Oh fuck" out loud as I reached for the phone, as I was sure this was bad news. When I answered, I barely took in what she was saying, but I heard the words "good news" and "survived", and I nearly collapsed on the floor. I thanked the embryologist profusely, and confessed to her that my heart had jumped into my throat when the phone rang!
Hanging up, I felt lighter than I have in a long time. I was so indescribably happy. As per other cycles when I've found out on transfer day that I actually have something to transfer, I swore that I didn't give a crap whether it was successful or not, I was just so very content at the prospect of being PUPO for the next two weeks. But this time was different... I could feel a new sort of hope building, a level of hope I hadn't experienced since I went in for my very first EPU.
When I arrived at the clinic (flying solo this time, as Alan had a meeting at work he couldn't miss), the embryologist took me aside and showed me a pic of Sheldrick from just after 10am that morning. I was disappointed to see that s/he didn't look much different to my last two morulas, but s/he was meant to be a blasty! She informed me, though, that when the pic was taken s/he was in a "collapsed" state, but was starting to refill with fluid again, which is what indicated that s/he was doing what s/he was meant to be doing. That was very good to hear. She then told me she'd give me an update on what Sheldrick was up to after she loaded him/her into the cannula for transfer.
Eventually I got called in, and went through all the same old crap to prepare for transfer. This was my fifth one; I'm old hat at it now. When the embryologist came in, she informed me that Sheldrick was now fully expanded. I was thrilled. That little seed of hope inside me began to grow...
The transfer went really well, FS commented that the emby was in a "perfect position", and as he left he even commented to the nurse, "Good transfer!". Everything just felt so happy and positive... my little hope-seedling was now lovingly planted in A-grade mulch, and was being watered and cared for tenderly.
I felt SO great for the next two days. Just completely different. I really thought, for various reasons, that this could truly be the one. Then at 3dp5dt, I started POAS. I was a little disappointed when nothing showed the first couple of days, and of course began my obsessive googling to see when others had gotten their BFPs on FRERs and if their pregnancies had been successful, etc. etc. I do this every cycle, and was reading all the same old forum threads that I read every cycle! It's so silly, but it's my method of coping with building disappointment. I was feeling different feelings than previous cycles though.... pains in my ovaries, lower abdominal "tightness", cramps that were unlike anything I've felt before. But when I got to 6dp5dt and was still getting BFNs, that's when everything came crashing down around me. I was beyond devastated. I have never been so crushed by a BFN before in my life. I was anrgy. I was depressed. I was even crying a lot, something that a BFN has never caused me to do. I couldn't believe that after feeling so different this time, so positive and so happy, that someone had come along with a weeding fork, gouged up my metaphorical hope by the roots, bent it and crushed it, and threw it in the compost heap.
After 7dp5dt I stopped POAS and wallowed in self-pity for a couple of days. But for the first time ever, AF didn't arrive. That was unheard of; I always have spotting before my blood test, no matter what. I started wondering if I could be one of those weirdo people who get negative FRERs but positive betas. Of course I started googling those sort of stories too... why I insist on doing this to myself I don't know! I was still feeling unusual in my abdomen. I resolved that if I hadn't started spotting two days before my BT, I would take one last FRER just to "make sure". At 10dp5dt I POAS in the afternoon, and stood in the bathroom scrutinising it at all angles as usual. But the difference this time was that there was... something there. I can't even call it a line. A "figment of my imagination" would be a more accurate description. I took a photo of it on my phone, and photoshopped it to try and bring it out more. There it was. A line. So so so soooooo faint, even after photoshopping, but there.
Now, I wasn't excited in the least, because I knew that it was way too late to be getting even a faint line you could see at arms' length, let alone something this non-existent. I was also aware that FRERs have recently had a spate of people getting "false positives", so I knew that it could just be a faulty test. I'd only bought one though, and knew it really wasn't worth buying another when I knew my beta would tell all in two days anyway.
When I went for my BT, I still had no spotting at all, so I joked to my usual phlebotomist that instead of being 100% sure of my result this time, for the first time ever I was only 99% sure. Then I went home, glad that I had my BIL and PIL visiting and hence distracting me. When the call from the clinic came through around midday, I suddenly knew they had interesting news for me, because my "negative" calls had come in the mid-afternoon. Sure enough, for the first time in my life, I had a nurse tell me that my BT was positive. But an "extremely low" positive, of course. My HCG was 6. Anything 5 and below is not pregnant, at least at most clinics. So I was barely pregnant. I couldn't even truly use the "P" word, that's how low my level was. But it was there. That little single-digit number proved that my ghost-line two days prior was the real thing, that the "different" feelings I'd been getting had been the real thing. It was a relief, to be honest. I was happy. A chemical pregnancy was better than none at all.
The nurse asked me whether I'd had any cramping or spotting, and when I replied in the negative, she instructed me to stay on Crinone just in case. My follow-up with my FS was booked for two days later, so she told me to check with him whether I should go for my second beta or not. At the appointment, FS kind of brought me back to earth a bit. He was still "shitty" (his word) that I wasn't pregnant, and this unconvincing chemical wasn't as much of a consolation for him as it initially was for me. I did start wishing that my HCG had been a little higher, like at least 40 or something. 6 was pretty fucking pitiful, and I knew that it had probably never been much higher than that, because the line on the FRER would have been more obvious than it was. Not as inspiring a result as it had been two days earlier. He told me to head off for my second beta that morning anyway, because "we have to know what's happening" regardless. We then got ushered in to see a nurse to discuss our next cycle, and we ended up reserving a straw of donor sperm too. We went with the same donor that made Sheldrick, and the other emby that had given me a possible early chemical, Ichabod, in my 3rd stim cycle. I figured that that donor had given us our two "best" results, so we might as well stick with him. The FN told us that there were only three straws of him left, and did we want to reserve all three for future use. But we weren't prepared to fork out $1650 on the spot like that (we weren't even really prepared for the $550!), so we said no. At this stage, we could care less if future children are created with a different donor. They'll still be our kids, so so what? We just want one child for now, one would be amazing and incredible and mind-blowing. I can't even think about siblings, that is so frigging presumptuous right now..
Anyway, that afternoon my beta came back at 3. So it was with great relief that I stopped taking Crinone, and started back on my DHEA and Testogel. AF arrived a couple of days later, and I honestly never once thought that I was shedding poor little Sheldrick, my little fighter who couldn't quite do it, along with the lining that had taken so many Progynova tablets and a fair bit of persistence to achieve. Nope. I was glad it was over.
I still feel bitter, and angry, and lost, and hopeless. But I'm starting again. Every cycle I do is one step closer to success or giving up. Giving up has it's appeal, I must say...
But I'm not there yet. Nowhere near.
