Saturday, 12 September 2009

So this is how I feel

I've been telling myself that I'm OK with all this - that I knew the chances of success on the first round of IVF were low, that I didn't expect it to work first time, but that I would go into it with as positive an attitude as possible.

I cried a little at the clinic, because the nurse was so understanding and so sympathetic that I found it difficult to hold it together straight after such a disappointment. I'd tried to prepare myself for failure at every stage - not producing enough follicles, the eggs not maturing, the eggs not fertilising, the embryos not implanting - but it never occurred to me to prepare myself for the possibility that my stupid useless body would prevent us from even being able to start the process.

But then I pulled myself together, told DH and a couple of other people what had happened and started working out the probable dates of the next cycle - which, by the way, are disastrous and will give me a serious headache as I try to work out what to do about the major work commitments I have at the probable time of egg collection/embryo transfer. Especially now I know that there's no certainty I'll even reach that stage, and I might be rearranging these work commitments for nothing, at a time when to do so is quite sensitive and could even lead to redundancy for someone else in the department (I won't go into that - it's a whole complicated, messy story of office politics).

Last night my DH had bought us tickets for a Simon and Garfunkel tribute concert. As I sat and enjoyed the first song, I thought, "There, you see, we wouldn't be able to do this sort of thing so easily if we had children."

The second song began, and I thought, "We have a great life together. If we never have children, it won't be so bad."

And then suddenly, and completely without warning, tears started to roll down my cheeks and drip onto my shirt.

And for the next hour, I sat there, behaving completely normally - I listened to the songs, applauded when each one ended, turned and smiled at my DH when he looked at me - but the whole time, the tears continued to flow silently until they soaked through the front of my shirt, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

So no, apparently at the moment I'm not OK.


  1. Oh honey, of course you're not! Who would be? It's a horrible disappointment and a real knock back. I would have been extremely surprised if you didn't weep.

    I know your time is terribly limited, and it's probably not something you would even think of, but isn't there any possibility you could find a counsellor to see once a week or so just to be able to talk through all the emotions that the process is throwing up? It might help? I know I would want to be able to talk about it.

    I WISH I was there to help!!!!!!! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  2. Jeannie, this blog is my therapy... Although the clinic does have a counsellor whose services we can apparently use free of charge (and you don't hear much of THAT in a private clinic!), so if things don't improve I might give her a ring and get an appointment.

    And you may not be here, but you do help - every time we talk on the phone, or you comment on my blog, or any of the other ways we communicate - it helps, and I appreciate all of it xxx

  3. HUGS And I think the counsellor is a good idea, I really do. Thinking of you so so much XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  4. Oh no ... I am so sorry you're feeling so low. I can't tell you how many times we've both just laid in bed and cried about our situation. I think it is good that you're able to acknowledge your feelings and mourn for your situation. Even though it hurts, it will help you when you're ready to step forward. Try not to think too much about the work commitments. It's impossible to predict the exact days of egg retrieval/embryo transfer so you may not even have to worry about not being at work. I am so sorry that it's not this month, but you WILL get your chance ... hang in there. =(