Hate

Everybody can piss the fuck off today. *disclaimer: if your offended by swearing this isn’t the post for you. I’m having a shit day today. I feel angry. Really angry. I’m sick and tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of waiting for something which may never come. I'm tired of not knowing.

This has become an illness. I am consumed by the need for answers and obsessed by the internet, which doesn’t give me any answers, only more questions, more speculation, more incorrect self-diagnosis. Last week I convinced myself that I was going through early menopause (false). This week I think I have PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome - possible. Waiting for consultation next week – although I barely have any symptoms. It’s a horrible thing to have – “the thief of womanhood”. I am desperately hoping I don’t have it.) I read everything. At least 3 times over. Nothing ever seems to quite fit my situation though.

 I feel so alone and isolated. I push away my friends – who are wonderful – but I don’t want to see them because what have I got to offer them? Misery, self-pity….I have nothing to say, nothing to give. Who would want to be friends with me? Why would anyone get any enjoyment out of spending time with me? I wouldn’t if I had a choice.

I’m tired of pretending I’m ok. I’m not.

What I say:

 I’m ok thanks, you?

This is what I want to say:

But I don’t. I go to work every day. I survive every day. Some days are easier than others, some days take everything I have. 

Today was one of those days. Today was my school’s Christmas fair and I was on glitter tattoo duty. What on earth was I thinking? Happy families, happy children, happy parents. Everyone getting excited about Christmas together. Everything I don’t have. We had hoped this time last year that I might be pregnant. Fucking hope. Hope can piss off. It doesn’t feature in my life anymore.

 I wanted to tell everyone how unfair it is. I hate everyone today. But I didn’t. I cried all the way there. Sat in the car for 5 minutes and got my game face on. I spent 2 hours talking to parents, entertaining the children. Got back in the car and cried all the way home.

I apologise for all the quotes. I spend a long time reading them. They comfort me because someone out there knows, someone out there understands. I am not alone. Counselling has helped. It has helped me understand I am supposed to feel this way. It’s normal. I’m not overreacting, I am going through a major life crisis. I am stuck in the stages of grief and I can’t move forward because there is no resolution, no acceptance, no end to this nightmare. 

Angry. Failure. Lost. Empty. Alone. Worthless. Sad. Tired. Scared. Wine.

That’s it, that’s all I have. All I am.

If I know you then I need to say this to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have become this person. I’m sorry our relationship has changed. I need you to know that even if I seem ok, I’m not. I need you. I need to you to bear with me. I need you to give me time. I need you not to give up on me.  I need you.

I’m so scared that you will think I am just attention seeking. I’m not. I don’t want this. I just want you to understand and sometimes I simply cannot find the words. 

I hate myself for even writing this post. But today this is all probably down to PMT. Gotta love hormones. 

Now what?

Once I got over the initial shock and disappointment I began to reflect a lot about what we had been through. We were so over the moon to get to embryo transfer that was all we could think about. But then I came to realise this simple fact:

In 2 cycles of IVF we had only ever managed to make one embryo.

This thought consumed me. I needed answers, I needed to know why. Why were we so unlucky?

To put it into a rough context - on average between 8-10 eggs are collected. Generally couples have several embryos left over to freeze. (On NHS frozen embryo transfer is still covered). Not always of course, every story is different.

Fun fact: For every woman who conceives a child through in vitro fertilisation, 15 embryos are made, and almost half of them are discarded during or after the process. 1.7 million Embryos have been discarded.

I say fact – it came from the Daily Mail.

If you remember, on our 1^st cycle I was given the wrong dosage of drugs and I produced 11 eggs. On the 2^nd cycle I was on the correct dosage for a woman of my age and I only produced 5. At the time, we were lucky to get a second go. But because they got the dosage wrong it completely masked the fact that I am what they call a poor responder. My body doesn’t respond properly to the drugs therefore I don’t produce enough eggs. Had we known this ready for our second go, we would have known that a) I am a poor responder and b) we are incompatible. With this knowledge we would have had a better chance of success – or at least of producing enough embryos to either transfer 2, or have some to freeze. They say they it takes on average 3 rounds of IVF to be successful. That is because the first cycle is diagnostic and this is very true. Because of the post code lottery nature of IVF most places only get one cycle and with the news this week that NHS funded cycles are being cut, and some even withdrawn completely, what chance do we infertile couples have?

In order for IVF to be successful for us we have 3 hurdles to get past, which is 2 more than most couples (I know I keep banging on about it, but that is the toughest part to come to terms with for me. I’m fully aware that everybody’s journey is tough and we all face different challenges)

1.      We have to produce enough eggs to give us a decent chance of success

2.      We have to make embryos

3.      The embryo needs to implant

4.      We need to keep hold of that embryo

I’ve added 4 because I am acutely aware that often couples have what is called a chemical pregnancy. This happens more than you realise and is because 70% (I think) of embryos formed have abnormalities and so your body gets rid of them in the first few days. Normally, you would have no idea it has even happened but obviously with IVF we are aware of every little step from the earliest stage. Miscarriage is something that affects so many couples and whether or not you have IVF makes no difference to this. I am thankful this is a pain I have not had to endure and my heart goes out to every couple who has had to go through such unspeakable heartbreak.

I have now had my follow up consultation. She made me cry all the way through by continually saying how sorry she was and how hard our journey had been (to be honest the couple who came into the waiting room with their 12 week scan, jumping for joy didn’t help. Yes I know, bitter). She thinks my ovaries are slow and there is a test for this called anti-mullerian hormone (AMH). It basically tests my ovarian reserve. You are kinda born with all the eggs you will ever release and over time your reserves deplete. This is why after the age of 36, it is harder to get pregnant. I’m unsure yet as to whether this indicates early menopause. Before, we were equally at fault/or blameless, whichever way you choose to look at it. Now, I know I am at least part of the reason why we have such trouble. Yay for me.

She recommends having this test and then having another shot at IVF armed with all the information we now have. The thing is, I don’t know if I can do it all again. In all honesty, I’m barely hanging on. I have my first counselling session on Monday (I’ll let you know how it goes). I mean, what is the long term impact of all of this? On my body? On my mental health? On my relationship? I always thought I was quite strong. It turns out I’m not really. I hear of these women who go through 11 IVFs and countless failures or miscarriages, and they still keep going. I don’t have that in me. I simple can’t do that. 5 years of negatives each month has chipped away at me, at my heart. I read an article about whether infertility defines a person. For me, at the minute, the answer is yes. It may not forever, but what I am going through now has changed me. It will change me for the future and it will change me as a partner, a friend and a mother. Because my future has changed. That returning hope I spoke about a month ago has not returned.

 I hope this will describe me, in the very near future.

As my bitterness fades and hope returns. But I feel like I will always carry a bit of that sadness with me. Perhaps not, only time will tell.

Ok, so in reality our options are this - have another go or adopt. Simples. Easy decision right? I think that my wonderful other half would want me to have another go but he would never ask me. He sees how it affects me and it makes him feel so useless. It breaks my heart. I plan to post another day on the effect of IVF on the bloke, who doesn’t get much of a look in really.

He wants to wait until after Christmas and see how we feel before making a decision. I hate not knowing, I find it very difficult not having a plan. The problem for me, right now, is that I just don’t want to do either. I am a huge fan of adoption. As far as I am concerned there is no better thing you can do for a child than give it a home. We have talked about it a lot and we both feel the same. In reality, it simply is not that easy. Adoption brings so many challenges.  The months of checks, waiting to go to panel, then waiting to be matched. What if you don’t bond? What if the child they match you with doesn’t feel right? How can you say no? What if it simply doesn’t work and you have to give that child back? I have experiences of children with attachment disorder, I know how challenging it can be. How much are we willing to try and deal with? I also know that it is incredibly rewarding, and I think we would be quite good at it. That any child we welcome into our home we will love and do absolutely everything in our power to provide them with a happy, stable and fulfilling life.

When do you let go though? All the dreams that have consumed me for 5 years. The positive pregnancy tests, dreaming of all the ways I’ll tell my fiancée. My name written up on the board at work ‘congratulations to Sofie on the pitter patter of tiny feet!’ Like the hundreds (it feels like) of colleagues. Sharing my picture of our ultrasound on Facebook. And that is before the joy of actually being pregnant, the conversations about names, nurseries, dreams of his or her future. I cannot even begin to imagine anymore what it would feel like to meet our child for the first time, to hold our baby in my arms, because it just hurts too damn much.

And that is where I leave you, for now. Until I have more news to share, or if I just need to rant! I want to thank you for reading. Apologies for all the self pity. Friends, family or strangers, your support helps more than you will ever, ever know. Lots of love. Xxx 

TTC part 4 - Two week wait

Embryo transfer day. For the first time in a while this was uncharted territory, a complete unknown. The nurses were wonderful, they were genuinely so pleased we had managed to make 1 embryo (unfortunately the other 2 hadn’t continued to grow). For this procedure my fella was allowed in the room with me. I think he was a bit shocked when I stripped off and hoisted my legs into the stirrups without blinking an eye. At this point I was so used to it I would have done it in Asda if asked! I really liked the fact that he could watch on the ultrasound. He saw the catheter go in and the embryo being placed. We were even given a picture of our beautiful embryo! If it had worked, I think that would have been so special for a father to watch this incredible stage. (I tried to see but the bloomin’ nurses head was in the way). Funnily enough, it was the least invasive procedure of the whole IVF process.

Here she is. Isn’t she lovely? We were so proud. My little Egbert.  The photo went on the mantelpiece and I showed it to everyone. Seems a bit daft now. But this is the closest we had ever got, and the closest I had ever been to being pregnant. Something very strange happened to me once the embryo was transferred. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. It’s really hard to describe but I felt good! I felt the happiest I had felt in a very long time. I thought it had to be because this was it, this was our time. I felt so positive without having to even try. And so I embarked on the two week wait. Often, people say this is the toughest part but I loved it! They call it ‘PUPO’ – ‘pregnant until proven otherwise’.  I was determined to enjoy it. I spoke to my Egbert, stroked her, and made sure she knew she was loved and wanted. I caressed my tummy like I had always dreamed of doing. (Unfortunately, due to the lovely pessaries I had to take twice a day I also looked pregnant, at least 4 months, another cruel trick of IVF). Once more, I obsessively googled every possible symptom and read as many stories as I could of people in the 2 week wait. I even kept a diary. If you’re interested I’m going to post below. I must admit, I find the science fascinating. I’ve left out some of the gorier details!

3 day transfer

(3 days after egg collection - often it is 5 days in between collection and transfer if you have more embryos, to watch them develop and pick the best - but as we had only 1, we had a 3 day)

Day 1: The embryo continues to grow and develop, turning from a 6-8 day embryo into a morula (we had a 7 cell).

Day 2: the cells of the morula continue to divide, developing into a blastocyst. (A few mild cramps)

Day 3: the blastocyst begins to hatch out of its shell (woke up to a really sharp pain on left hand side of uterus, feel heavy as if about to start period. Sore nipples)

Day 4: blastocyst continues to thatch out of its shell and begins to attach itself to the uterus. (tiredness, sore nipples, lower back pain.)

Day 5: the blastocyst attaches deeper into the uterine lining, beginning implantation (cramps down right hand side, tiredness, rash where you don’t want a rash)

Day 6: Implantation continues. (period style cramps all morning, can’t stop eating! Lots of gas.)

Day 7: Implantation is complete, cells that will eventually become the placenta and foetus begin to develop (indigestion, strong twinge on right hand side (implantation – lots of people believe you can feel the moment when it implants)

Day 8; Human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG this is what pregnancy tests pickup) starts to enter the blood stream (tiredness, weeing a lot, thirst, slight headache, cramps)

Day 9: foetal development continues and HCG continues to be secreted (no symptoms)

Day 10: foetal development continues (no symptoms)

Day 11: HCG is now high enough to be detected a pregnancy.

Day 12: go to clinic for blood test and pregnancy test.

I held out till Day 11 before testing at home. There is a lot of debate about whether to test early or not. For me, I didn’t want to burst the bubble. But once I knew I would get a result I just couldn’t wait. After an agonising 3 minutes it was negative. I still didn’t really believe it. I spent all day googling for stories of women who had a negative on day 11 and a positive on day 12. Because it does happen. Because I thought it had worked. Because I thought I was pregnant.

We went to our appointment still with some hope. I gave in my sample and we were called into the room. We were in an out in less than 5 minutes. The conversation went like this: “I’m sorry, it’s negative. Stop taking the pessaries, they are the only thing holding back your period. It will be very heavy with lots of blood clots. I’ll make you a follow up appointment but the next one we have is in a month’s time.” And so we left, went to Asda and bought a shit load of alcohol.  

I mentioned earlier about IVF being cruel, and about how the pessaries make you look pregnant. Well, the thing is, they also mimic signs of pregnancy. So all of the above symptoms came from the pessaries. Deep down, even at the time, I knew the cramps were from my ovaries settling down after egg collection. I knew the gas (sorry), the bloating and everything else was from the pessaries. But I hoped! I was so full of hope and positivity!  

This is what I found so hard you see. I’ve never had an especially good relationship with my body, as I’m sure most women would say. But I feel like my body has failed me, lied to me and tricked me. I have put on a lot of weight which I’m struggling to shift, so I feel horrid, but more than that it let me down. Even subconsciously. What was it that made me feel that sense of peace? That happiness? That positivity? I feel completely disconnected and distrustful of myself and my feelings. That’s pretty hard to live with day to day.

And that brings us full circle to the day I started writing this blog, which was Day 13. The day after we found out our 2^nd cycle of IVF had failed. 

TTC part 3 - A new hope

So, where was I? 

Ah yes, the phone rang. It was the clinic (a very lovely lady, by the name of Julia, who remembers absolutely everyone who comes through her doors). “Its good news” she said. “I can’t tell you why but can you come and see us?” We spent all weekend trying desperately not to get our hopes up but also thinking what else could it be? We already knew our appeal had failed. But could we be given another go on the NHS? How is that possible?

And so went to meet our consultant shaking.  It turned out that the pharmacy had made a mistake with our drug order. The Fostimon (which are the evening injections to help egg growth) were in the wrong size bottle, therefore I was taking double the amount than I should have. Eagerly we asked if that was why we had zero fertilisation but the answer was no. That would have happened regardless. It didn’t actually affect anything at all but the mistake meant the NHS granted us another go.

And so we left dancing down the road and feeling so lucky! “We get another go” we kept saying to each other! Lucky. I’ve thought a lot about that word. I’ve realised that luck is relative. Yes we were lucky to have another go. But do you know what? Nothing about this is fucking lucky. I don’t feel lucky. Far from it. Feeling lucky doesn’t feature in my emotions or thought processes. But, at that point in our lives, we were lucky to get another go.

We wanted to start straight away. And so after a 45 day cycle (seriously, I was ready to kill someone) we began again. The day before treatment started I cried and cried. I just didn’t want to do it. And my amazing fella told me “Hey! Whatever happens, this is going to end well for us. Either it works and we have a baby or it doesn’t and we adopt. Either way something good will come of this. We will get our family”. Ah, love him.

This time was much harder for me. I guess after the previous cycle being so devastating I was more anxious, I knew what could go wrong.  In all honestly, I don’t think I gave myself time to recover, mentally, physically and emotionally. 2 lots of IVF in 5 months is pretty tough, bearing in mind it takes 6 weeks for your ovaries to return to normal. But I got on with it. Did the injections at 6 every morning. Started the evening injections (very carefully checking the dosage) and attended the dildo cam sessions and blood tests. And I did it all without moaning. (Ha! I hear my fiancée cry).  

Things seemed to be text book. Until the week before my egg collection date. I’m pretty used the internal scans now and I know what to look for on the computer screens, how many eggs there should be and what size. And I could see that they hadn’t grown over the weekend. The nurse ummed and ahhed. “It’s not looking good is it?” I asked. “Umm, ahhh….” she said. “They haven’t really grown. You maybe will have 5 or 6 by Friday, if you’re lucky”. That damn word again. Bearing in mind that not every follicle will contain an egg and they don’t know that until they are doing the operation. I went back on the Wednesday fully expecting my cycle to be cancelled which they will do if you have less than three eggs, generally. In the meantime I had researched and researched how to make your eggs grow.  Protein!  The best way to get protein is by drinking milk. So, I drank pints and pints of milk and at loads of eggs and cheese. They still hadn’t grown.

At this point I’m going to have a short interlude to break this all up. Too many words. Who wants to see infertility depicted in cat photos? Course you do. Click below.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/flopsie/infertility-explained-by-33-impossibly-adorable-ca-n33f#.fm3BabPYDY

I felt devastated again. To go through all this and have such bad luck again. I couldn’t understand why I had so few eggs when I responded so well last time? But, of course, we were on the wrong dosage previously. But egg collection went ahead and they managed to get 5 eggs. We were pretty pleased as by this stage we were expecting less.

So began then the agonising wait to find out if they had fertilised. I demanded we watch Harry Potter as we waited for the phone to ring, once more. My comfort blanket films. Luckily (!) one egg had fertilised and 2 showed signs. We were going to get to embryo transfer! We couldn’t believe it. This was a step closer than we had ever gotten before. So excited! We were in with a shot! Albeit a 33% shot. Still pretty crappy odds, but we had chance. And felt hopeful.

TTC part 2 The phone rings.....zero fertilisation

The phone rings 

The phone rings. A quiet voice asked me how I am feeling. Then, asks me if I am alone. Alarm bells rang immediately. “I’m so sorry” she said. “It is bad news”. My heart beats faster. “None of the eggs fertilised”. I didn’t even know this was a possibility. I could barely speak. 

“So that’s it?” I said. “Our go over?” You see, your IVF cycle is finished as soon as eggs are collected. Not once the embryos are made. Not once the embryo is implanted. Nope. So that was it. Even the consultant said this is the hardest part of her job. It happens so rarely  - between 2% and 5% of people. 

“Why?” I managed to ask? “We don’t know. The sperm didn’t even try and penetrate the eggs. It’s like they repel each other. You are incompatible”. But we get on so well I thought. It’s a horrible thing to be told. You and the love of your life are incompatible. In a tiny petri dish his sperm and my eggs couldn’t find each other. Seriously? Do they need flash cards to help them recognise each other? (always a teacher). So we were devastated.

 I went on online obsessively trying to find answers. And one of the hardest things is there aren’t any. Not really. Through this journey the one thing I have found out for sure is that IVF is such a new science that there is still a huge amount people don’t know. But because zero fertilisation is so rare, no one seems to have done any research.  We had our follow up consultation and what we heard most was “we just don’t know”. Our eggs are good, his sperm is good. No-one knows.

There another procedure we could do called ICSI, which is where the best looking sperm is injected directly into the egg and this should combat the no fertilisation issue. But of course we have now used our NHS funding. So we decide to save for a year and see how we feel.

And I went back to work. Instead of being on the 2WW (2 week wait) I went back to work, all the time feeling like I shouldn’t be there, I should be patting my tummy, eating brazil nuts, not lifting heavy things and resting in front of Netflix. We felt so cheated and robbed of a fair go, like everyone else. We tried to appeal against our cycle being cancelled but were told IVF funding appeals NEVER EVER work. We were so, so angry and bitter at the world. 

And then the phone rang again…………..

TTC part 1 - a little about us

Our Trying to Conceive Journey

Me and my other half. Known each other since we were 11. Fancied each other since we were 11. I have notes I wrote listing my top 5 guys – he was always on my list. But we weren’t friends, we didn’t share any classes, didn’t know each other to talk to really. When we were 16 he started going out with my mate. The three of us used to share fags in the morning on the field opposite the school. It turned out we had loads in common. Same music, same films. And I still fancied him and he says he fancied me too – despite us both being in other relationships. Then, when we were 20 we bumped into each other outside a night club. We were both single and the rest, as they say, is history. We have had our ups and downs. We did long distance for several years. We split for a while but found our way back to each other. It’s always been him. He keeps me grounded and balances me out. And it kills me that I can’t give him a child. He would be (will be) an amazing father. So when we got back together having a family was on the cards immediately. I don’t think we even discussed it – we both just knew it was what we wanted. But, I have always felt like I couldn’t get pregnant. I had a few ovulation issues when I was in my 20s but I just knew…..so we went to the doctors and began the tests. Everything was fine. I was ovulating, which surprised me as I had always had irregular periods. But there was no reason they could find to explain why we couldn’t conceive. This was Oct 2012 (we had gotten engaged the previous June). And then on 7^th December 2012 my dad died. One minute he was there and the next he had gone. I have never needed my dad more than I do now. I miss him and feel his loss desperately. Needless to say, through our grief, we put things on hold. Then, when we were ready, we went back to the doctors. Retook the tests. This took ages for several reasons. In November I went for my hystopingapongagram. Or something. This is where they insert the dye into your tubes to check for blockages. And it fucking hurt! But no problems were found. In January 2015 we were told our best option was IVF. I was a bit shocked as I had expected fertility drugs perhaps for 6 months first and maybe a few goes at artificial insemination. But no, based on out test results they decided there was no point wasting time with the other options.

So we began. The injections weren’t too bad really, luckily we could use an autoinjector which made life a lot easier. For those who don’t know, the morning injections shut down your body so that the clinic can take it over. It is essentially like going through the menopause (and I had the hot flushes to go with it). I had terrible headaches and felt extremely lethargic but they were the only side effects I had. Once I started the evening injections I felt much better. These are more complicated as you have to mix powders and all sorts. The evening injections basically make you grow as many eggs as possible – which will increase the chance of getting more embryos. At that point every other day you go and get intimately acquainted with the dildo cam. The nurses count and measure all the follicles – they need to be around 18mm to be retrieved. I seemed to be doing quite well….I think had 23 eggs at one point all between 15 – 20 mm – I genuinely was walking with a limp the weekend before egg collection! 3 days before egg collection you take one more injection which matures the eggs ready to be collected. So, I was booked in on the Monday and at my clinic you get signed off for two weeks from this point. I didn’t know what to expect really and there was lots of waiting around as we were third on the list. So, eventually I put the gowns in and went into the operating theatre, feeling very nervous as had never had any kind of operation. But the team were all great and before I knew it I was under and away with the fairies. The procedure takes about 45 minutes. I woke up to find my other half and the nurse who informed us we collected 11 eggs. We were delighted! We always knew there was only a very small chance IVF will work first time, so more than anything we wanted to collect enough eggs to fertilise so that potentially we would freeze some and try again (this would still be covered by NHS). So home we went, feeling for the first time quite excited, ready to wait for the phone call the next day. 

Dumbo's Mum.

So how does it feel to be infertile in a fertile world? This picture sums it up better than any words I could muster. I stumbled across this on pinterest and immediately broke down because it sums it up perfectly.

Yep that’s me. (told you I’d be full of self-pity – but please allow me to indulge). And also 1 in 8 couples. I’d like to give you some advice if I may. Be careful what you say to people who don’t have children. You don’t know their story. And if people do tell you about their struggles, think before you speak. I know you care and I know you want to help.

The best thing you can do to help is to do some research. Find out what we are going through and what IVF entails. Ask questions if you don’t understand. Ask us how we are. Remember when our appointments are and let us know you are thinking of us. Don’t hide your pregnancy or your happiness. I’m happy for you. But yes, if I’m honest I’m also jealous. And hurting. But I am still happy for you. Don’t tell us to 'just adopt'. Yes, adoption may well be an option but it does not make up for the loss of not being able to carry your own child. “Once you adopt you’ll get pregnant!” Erm, no actually we won’t. That is impossible for us. And also undermines adoption. If we choose to go down that route then that will be our child, and we will be ready to welcome and celebrate him or her as our own. And if your uncle’s wife’s niece’s cousin had IVF and was successful that’s great. I’m happy for them. But it doesn’t actually help us. Everyone is different and everyone has different issues. Because it happened to them, doesn’t mean it will happen for us. “My husband just has to walk past me and I get pregnant!” Seriously?! “It took me almost a year to get pregnant, so I understand.” A year isn’t bad actually. Try 5, and we are not even close. I get that it is difficult. How can I expect you to understand when you haven’t walked in my shoes? Again, I‘m sure this sounds bitter - well, yeh, because I am.

 I’m also very fortunate to have a huge amount of love and support surrounding me. I’ve always been really open and honest about our struggle for several reasons. Firstly, it is simply who I am. I can’t really keep things to myself. I tell people everything – sometime I think it is a curse and sometimes I think it is good quality. Either way, I can’t help myself. The benefits of that is I have massive network of support – within my family, within my friends and within my workplace. The down side of it is when things go wrong I have to tell everyone. Tell everyone that we failed. I failed. Even with the help of fucking science, we still can’t get fucking pregnant. 

But also because infertility has a silent voice. People don’t talk about it. And why shouldn’t they? I’m not ashamed. It’s not a choice. It isn’t because we lived our lives a certain way. It just….is. By telling people they, in turn, open up about their experiences. The other reason is that IVF is an incredibly gruelling and intensive process. It affects you physically, mentally and emotionally. I knew I would not be able to continue by day to day life without people noticing I was not myself - for example on my 35th birthday, after two weeks of ‘down regging’ (injections which shut down your body in order for the fertility clinic to take it over) I started my period (AF – Aunty Flo in the infertility world – I’ve always quite liked that one and yes, sorry, tmi). I was in agony and my hormones were raging. I sobbed every time anyone said happy birthday to me. Had my wonderful team and friends not known what I was going through they probably would have had me committed. So this blog is also my way of giving infertility a voice, I hope someone, somewhere will read it and find it useful.

Hope and the IVF world.

                                                         Hope and the IVF World.

 I wish I’d started blogging from day 1, but it was only after I have immersed myself in the world of infertility that I have realised what a special community it is and how valuable other people stories have been to me. We even have our own special language. I entered this world in May 2015 not having a clue and was left overwhelmed! Now, I think in acronyms and slang terms. My head is full of BFPs and BFNs (big fat positives and big fat negatives – this is how we announce our successes and failures). POAS and OTD (pee on a stick and official test date – a big debate when you are in your 2WW (two week wait) – to test early or not to test early?) Embies (embryos). Snowbabies (frozen embryos). Follicles and dildo cams. ECs and ETs (egg collections and embryo transfers). And tmi (too much information – because IVF leaves you with no shame. Everything - and I mean everything - from your bowel movements to your cervical mucus and back again -  is discussed and analysed.) Yet these people are so special. I have never known a more supportive group of people. They cheer for your successes even if they have failed. They mourn your losses as if they were their own. They understand the importance of the small steps and celebrate them with you (what size are your follicles? How many eggs did you get? How many fertilised? How many embies will they put back? 3 day transfer or 5 day blastocysts?  Did you get any snow babies?) It genuinely is a different world and without support forums like Fertility Friends it would be a lonely and isolating place to be.  They have given me hope when I felt there was none. I obsessively read peoples stories (infertility blogs) going back years and years and often skipped ahead to see if they had been successful. Some had, some had moved on and some were still continuing in their journey. And what struck me most is how strong these women are. Infertility is about failure. These woman tried and tried and never gave up. They had their hearts broken time and time again but picked up the pieces. When you read their signatures (info at the bottom of their posts telling you their private journey) you cannot imagine how they have been though what they have and are still standing. Not just standing, but cheering – full of hope and possibilities. I say cheers to you all (because I can now drink and hell, yes, I am drinking) I raise a glass and I salute you all. I read a story about a women hosting a conference about infertility. She began by saying "I'm sorry for your losses". Because infertility is about loss too. Every failure is a loss. Eggs that failed to fertilise. Embryos that degraded and died before they could be transferred. Failed IVF cycles because the embryo failed to implant. Chemical pregnancies. Missed miscarriages.  So yeah, failure, loss but above everything - hope. Today I don’t feel hopeful. But I did, and I will again. I hope. 

I has a sad.

Hey. So, I'm writing this blog as a way of coming to terms with our journey of infertility. I'm by no means a writer but over the last few months I have become addicted to following other people's infertility blogs and it has been a tremendous source of comfort and information for me. So I thought I'd try and repay the favour. I don’t have a success story to tell, yet. But, this is probably more about therapy for me and will probably just be an outpouring of grief and anger at this stage. Because that's how I feel today. Yesterday, we received the news that our 2^nd attempt at IVF had failed. I would like to retrospectively lay out our journey trying to conceive (ttc – the first of many acronyms – be warned). And because of how I feel today it will probably be full of sadness and full of self-pity. And I don’t apologise for that. Sorry. Shit. Sorry.