I got a computer at home so that I do meet a man through internet dating and start a blog. And then get the relationship and blog established enough that before too long I would be at home with a baby and a blog. It was kind of a joke but it was kind of true. When you get to my age and a baby is finally a real possibility, you just can't wait for it to happen.
I was 38 when I met George. We had both said on our internet dating profiles that we would like children, and we talked about it but were both aware it might not happen. But really, I thought it would. So I was - maybe not blase, just confident I guess - when I got pregnant within a few months of trying. And although I didn't expect the miscarriage, I did know it was common and the fact that I had got pregnant in the first place was a good sign. I held onto a statistic I'd read: only 1% of women who have miscarriages do not go on to have a baby. And it had happened, it could happen again.
But it didn't. I charted, I temped, I counted days. There were months when I got hopeful, when I'd test. After a couple of those I didn't even tell George when I tested. People would ask if we were still trying. What a fucking stupid question. If the answer were no, it would be because it was too heartbreaking to try, and why would you want to talk to people about that? I think people just want you to say yes so they can feel everything is OK. Everything was OK. I was on the internet by then, involved in TTC and IF chats. We went to a specialist, just to see if there was a reason we weren't getting pregnant. Everything was fine. He said the fact that I'd got pregnant naturally at 39 was a very encouraging sign, and that IVF would boost our odds (2.5 times higher than trying naturally).
I didn't want to do IVF, I wanted signs and portents. I had wanted to be pregnant again before I turned 40, then before the baby's due date, then before Christmas, then before the anniversary of when I'd conceived, then I ran out of magic dates.
Because we weren't infertile, we weren't eligible for public funding. I put off starting IVF, it seemed like such a big thing. And we weren't infertile, it was just an age thing. I'd heard that at our age it can take 2 years to conceive. But I didn't want to waste those two years. Still, by the time I started on the pill as the first step in my IVF cycle, it was almost a year and a half since the miscarriage. After a month on the pill, I started injecting myself in the stomach with drugs, first one to suppress my ovaries, then one to stimulate the development of follicles. Something went wrong with that one, the pen didn't release the drug properly, making it look like I wasn't responding. The cycle was cancelled. I cried. All that build up, all that "big thing", more months wasted.
I had to start again with another month on the pill. I was over it already. No coffee, no alcohol, so much money, so much pressure, such a headfuck. I responded well, and out of 7 embryos ended up with 2 in my uterus and 2 in the freezer. BFN (=big, fat negative) for the 2 fresh ones. It wasn't long before Christmas, and we decided to wait till the new year to do a TER (thawed embryo replacement). This was much easier to go through than a fresh cycle. I ovulate on my own, so I did a natural cycle, where I had blood tests to check and then confirm my ovulation, but no drugs. In the freezer we had an 8-cell embryo, which had been cultured in the lab for 3 days, so needed to replaced 3DPO (days post ovulation). The lab rang me in the morning to say the embryo hadn't survived the thaw. It happens. Even though I knew that, to me it wasn't just a fragile embryo, it was my potential baby, with a due date and a date I would finish work and everything.
My last embryo was a blastocyst, a 5-day embryo of 70-100 cells. Embryos turn into blastocysts in the uterus, but the fertility clinic tries to culture as many on to blast as they can, as the stats show a blastocyst has a 60% chance of pregnancy. I had lost 3 embryos as the lab tried to culture them onto blast, but I held out great hope for the one blast I had. I was, however, terrified that it wouldn't thaw. Two days after my day 3 embryo hadn't thawed, I waited for the phonecall from the embryologist. I sat cross legged on the trampoline in the February sunshine, trying to relax and think positive thoughts, the phone beside me.
This one was a survivor, I got pregnant! IVF works! It paid off! My first cycle, I was so lucky! But so cautious, I was no longer the blithe pregnant woman I had been in my first pregnancy. I was pregnant for less than two weeks. The clinic said it was a mystery, I'd had 2 blood tests and my hcg levels had risen well. Normally, said my specialist, they'd have had an indication that something was wrong before I started bleeding on the morning of my third blood test. I knew it was over before I got the call that afternoon telling me my levels had plummeted.
And that was it. That was the end. We'd spent $10,000 we didn't have on something that almost worked. One of the two friends at work I'd told said "you never know, it might happen naturally". Never talk about the next pregnancy with someone who has just miscarried. Just say you're sorry, it sucks. I said if it had been going to happen naturally, it would have sometime in the two and a half years since my first pregnancy.
I didn't know what the right thing to do was. I had been to a clairvoyant years earlier who had said there was one boy out there for me, if I really wanted him. I wondered if George junior was this boy. I read The Secret, which said just ask for what you want, don't worry about the how or the when, trust it to the universe. But does that mean not boosting your chances? I had proof now that IVF did, and I had got so close that surely next time it would work? George said it just made George junior even more precious. I said it was only money stopping us from doing another round, and at the end of my life I wasn't going to be grateful for having paid off the house a little earlier, but we would never regret the money if it did mean we had a baby.
One more round, then. As I injected myself morning and night, I knew I could not go through it again. This was it. Again, 7 embryos. Again, 2 in the uterus and 2 in the freezer. Again, BFN on the fresh transfer. It was getting closer to our trip to Rarotonga. I counted the days, and worked out if I did a TER (thawed embryo replacement) before our trip, then I'd be 8 weeks pregnant when we went. Having had two first trimester miscarriages, I did not want the stress of being first trimester pregnant on our holiday. We decided to wait until we got back.
My period was due in Rarotonga, but was late. I told George when it was 2 days late, then 3, then 4. Testing wasn't an option, we were heading home that night anyway. And what do you know, on our last day, my period arrived. I felt stupid for once again having got my hopes up.
I knew my last 2 frozen embies were it. I decided to go hard out dieting and exercising to get in the best shape possible for the transfer. I lost 3 kilos in the month leading up to my next day 1, and decided to carry on till transfer date 3 days post ovulation, so another couple of weeks. I was up early on the dark winter mornings, running in my trackpants and beanie. The Secret had said to visualise your ideal body shape, and I didn't know whether to visualise myself slim and trim or round and pregnant - didn't want to get the wrong message to subconcious and end up round but not pregnant!
My period was late again. It had happened the previous month in Rarotonga, so I figured it was just my body getting old. I was probably premenopausal. 2, 3, 4 days again. I told George, and he said "I think it's coming", like he knew! On the Saturday morning, George got up to make breakfast and I told him I'd join him, but I was so tired I couldn't get out of bed. Hmm, I thought, and got my last pregnancy test out of my drawer, ready to use in the morning. In the wee hours, I had a wave of nausea and then could hardly sleep for excitement, knowing when I got up, I'd be testing. I didn't tell George. At 5.18am, I got up, grabbed my test, and headed for the bathroom. I was kneeling on the floor in my pink pyjamas when I saw the 2 pink lines come up clear and strong. I skipped back down the hallway, told George, turned on the light, showed him the test - he had no idea what I was showing him. When he woke up enough to realise, he said "how did that happen?"
Ah, how infertility and baby loss changes things. The first time I got pregnant, he said "I told you I was virile!" The second time, he said "Don't get too excited". And now "How did that happen?"
I hate that I'm a cliche - just relax, go on holiday, stop thinking it will happen, stop charting and temping, you never know, it might happen naturally, rah rah rah. But of course I'm thrilled that I'm pregnant and somehow proud that it's a natural conception.
I tried so hard to influence the how and the when, but it looks like I'll finally get what I've wanted for so long. The man, the baby, the blog. I worked hard on the man, then the baby, I'll work much harder on the blog next year, m'kay?
Hey, baby!
