Getting through it

My sweet husband and I were in Nashville, sampling fried pickles and live music in a smoky honky-tonk bar downtown, when I just knew.  I was five days from my beta following our first IVF.  I sipped a PBR gingerly, as if somehow I might discourage an embryo from implanting by consuming a few ounces of light beer.  But I knew.

My boobs were no longer exquisitely tender as they had been in the days following retrieval and transfer.  And somehow my body just knew it wasn't pregnant.  I tried to be hopeful.  IVF is what works for people when other options fail.  It worked for so many women I read about online.  For ones who'd had three or more failed IUIs, like myself.  Plus, as of the week before, we'd had several-celled embryos that were multiplying. 

We went to a wedding that weekend where people talked about their kids, and then in the absence of any discussion of kids on our part, asked if we wanted any.  Loaded question is an understatement.  Recalling that I was still on hormones several times daily, and had a glass of champagne for the toast, it's a wonder I was able to give my standard diplomatic answer: "we would LOVE to have children; it hasn't happened for us yet, but we'll be thrilled when it does."

Cue onslaught of comments from well-meaning men and women who haven't a clue what it's like to not get pregnant after, say, 2 years or so of TTC:

Standard comment (followed by the response in my head)
"You're still young."  (You have no idea how old I am)
"It'll happen soon!"  (Know anything about FSH?  Mine's 15.9)
"Just relax and it'll happen."  (We're in the middle of a 2WW, "just relax" doesn't happen)
"You've got plenty of time."  (Please Google "diminished ovarian reserve")

Occasionally I'd hear a comment like "we wish you well with that."  Which seemed to suffice beautifully, and didn't minimize our struggle.  I have to remember that most people don't have any idea what it's like to be infertile and desperately want children.  I have to remind myself they're well-meaning.

It was not a surprise but still a slap in the face when we got the call in the middle of a busy workday, five days later, on our wedding anniversary, and learned we were not pregnant.  I took a few minutes in the back office to attempt to blot my tears, cleanse the streams of mascara from my face, and collect myself to the point of providing patient care for the next few hours. I'm a crier by nature, and sometimes once the floodgates open, it's done.  Looking back, I amazed myself that evening.  I pulled it together and just got through it.  Which is so much of what this journey has been about.