What’s that thing about the definition of madness, you know, doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results blah blah blah?
I propose an alternative definition: the definition of madness is a 39 year old woman on her last IVF/FET cycle insanely doing HPT after HPT after HPT on the 2ww.
Don’t ask me why I do it, I just don’t know. Probably because, being delusional, I think it will give me some form of control over this period of limbo, except it doesn’t, as each test creates its own new agony, e.g.:
- Why can H not seen the positive result on this test that I have stripped of its casing and held up to the lightbulb, when it is plain to see from a distance of at least 3mm?
- Why is this superfaint line not getting darker 48 hours later?
- Why did the same brand test read almost negative with FMU at 6.30 but a faint yet cheery positive at lunchtime?
- Is this positive a false positive?
- Why in the name of ARSE is this Clearblue digital which cost approximately half my monthly wage showing a BFN at this time?
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
As for you, Google, you’re no help whatsoever, with your tales of people getting BFN all the way until OTD which keep rousing my spirits interspersed with gloomy tales of chemical pregnancies which is a route down which I am extremely keen not to go again.
6 days till OTD. In order to retain some shred of sanity and dignity, I shall now commit to a POSITIVE MENTAL ATTITUDE.
- The line will get darker.
- I will get a positive on a clearblue digital.
- The result on OTD will be a healthy, happy BFP.
- The 6 week scan will show us a very healthy, happy embryo.
- And I will be extremely, eternally grateful for all of this.
I am now going to put my feet up the wall (yoga pose) and watch Arrested Development.
Yes! 1 x blastocyst on board, 100% intact from the thaw and expanding. All went to plan. Here, for posterity, is a brief record of Transfer Day.
- 6.30am. Alarm goes off. Ignore. Nipper comes in. Progesterone, oestrogen, and CBeebies (first 2 for me, CBeebies for the Nipper).
- 7.00am. Fertility yoga sequence (aka lying on floor coughing up remnants of delightful lingering cold that Nipper kindly bestowed upon me).
- 8.00am. Briefly check work emails. Five million emails from far east overnight. Read manically, compose update to client in haste as due to leave at 8.30am.
- 8.35am. Get in shower.
- 8.55am. Leave house. Eat toast in car. Beautiful day. Deposit N in nursery. Reassure H that we will arrive perfectly on time despite leaving house nearly thirty minutes later than planned. Down large bottle of water to fill bladder (procedural requirement).
- 9.50am. Arrive at clinic. Exactly on time. (IN YOUR FACE, H).
- 10.00am. OK, really need a wee now.
- 10.01am. Shown through. Dress self in standard issue towel and plastic clogs. Reassuringly brisk consultant, nurses and kindly sonographer. Embryologist puts embryo on screen and confirms all looking good. Legs in stirrups. Stare pointedly at ceiling for next 10 minutes whilst things go on with catheters and my cervix.
- 10.30am. ‘Tis done. Best Wee Ever. Brisk advice from brisk nurse about dos and don’ts. We get a photo to take home (of our embryo, not of me in stirrups).
- 11.00am. Brunch with my H.
- 12.00pm. Get home. Get into bed. So do H and the Dog. THERE IS NO ROOM IN THE BED.
- 1.00pm. Insane conversation with parents.
- 2.00pm. Watch Netflix.
- 4.00pm. Consider packing for mini break. Write blog instead.
Plans for rest of the day involve: brief walk with Dog, collecting car from garage, and avoiding packing until the last conceivable moment. Fascinating, no?
Official test date is 21 September. Resolved absolutely under no circumstances to go through insanity of last time and test before then. Also googled “how early can I test after FET” and “where can I buy first response tests en route to Glasgow.”
Right, little star, get implanting, and please, please stick. X