*peeking in nervously*

So yesterday was what my darling sorority sister and very good friend, veteran of 2 fresh and 2 frozen IVFs, now 31 weeks pregnant with twins,¬†affectionately calls the “WTF appointment” – as in “WTF doctor, why didn’t this cycle work and WHERE IS MAH BAYBEE?”

When I came in, the doctor was looking at a pic of one of my embies on his monitor. He talked to me about how the cycle had gone better than he’d thought it would, and how I responded well to the meds, had gotten a good number of eggs. I learned that even when embryos look “normal” in the lab, up to 50% are chromosomally abnormal – including embryos from donor eggs, which are theoretically the best eggs. We talked about my weight – how they don’t know if it affects implantation, but that if it does, it probably only affects success rates by a few percentage points at most. He said stims and retrieval, the big worries when you’re dealing with someone with a high BMI (guilty!) went well for me, so he was encouraging me to try another cycle – and yes, a fresh cycle, since only one frozen embryo doesn’t give great chances for success.

But then he said that after 2 failed fresh IVFs, the chances for pregnancy success with further IVFs are very low, and he didn’t want me “doing something just to do it that wasn’t likely to work.” It was a sobering thought. But I also appreciated that he wasn’t going to make me go through heartbreak after heartbreak.

I read once that if your RE has no plans to change your protocol after a failed cycle, it’s time to look for a new RE. My meds will change, but not much.

– my dosage of the gonadotropins will be increased slightly, to hopefully get us more eggs while still avoiding hyperstimulation
– we’ll be adding steroids and baby aspirin (are both of those for after transfer? I think so). He said they generally skip that stuff unless people have multiple failed cycles, but he doesn’t want me to go through multiple failed cycles, which I appreciated.¬†

So. BCPs started last night. Here we go again. No, I don’t want to talk about IRL if I’m not bringing it up, and I suspect I won’t tell nearly as many people this time that we’re doing it. Delivering bad news is the worst.


And the negative beta goes to …

… Patty!

But we knew that already.

The nurse called and said “Unfortunately, you were right.”

Dude. Never question me. I’m always effing right.

I’m okay right now. Expect a drama post later where I rail against the universe about how not-okay I am then, but for now? I’m okay. It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming.

I really believed this would work.

Always. Despite my “no matter what, we just need to know!”s and “either way, I’m going to be fine”s … deep down, I always, always believed that with my proven uterus of steel, normalish hormones, etc., etc., I would be a mama again.

Yeah, so that’s not happening.

Negative test this AM. It’s not too early anymore. I called my clinic and asked through sobs for my beta (pregnancy blood test) to be moved up to Monday, which they refused because of the holiday weekend.

So yeah, let’s keep dragging this farce out. Please. So fun. More progesterone for NO REASON! SQUEEEEEE!

Other highlights of the day included explaining to my heartbroken crying little boys that there would be no baby (damn their perceptiveness and my inability to make sure they’re out of earshot before holding conversations related to all of this) and, of course, notifying all of my friends and family that I’m officially a failure. DH can tell my in-laws. I’m out.