let it snow let it snow let it snow

On 25 November, on a beautiful, crisp frosty morning, we went in for our D12 scan. I felt totally negative and despondent. I’m an idiot. Lining was 10mm and we were good to crack on to transfer.

So, as the weather reverted to more typical northern November gloom and greyness, it was bye bye buserelin and onwards and upwards with the utrogestan (literally) (sorry).

On which note what is it with the utrogestan applicators? I would have more assistance from a propellant pencil.

Transfer was scheduled for yesterday, 3 December, which was another beautiful, crisp frosty morning. I’m not arrogant enough to believe that the weather organises itself around my IVF cycle but hey, I’ll take any good omens going, thank you so very much.

Despite the weather and H’s chipper mood, I still felt pretty grim when we arrived. We had decided, after a pretty blunt bollocking from one of the nurses, that transferring both would not be sensible, but this opened a whole new world of neuroses. What if one didn’t survive the thaw? What if neither survived? What if one survived, but with limited viability, and we had to make decisions about defrosting the other and then possibly letting one go? For want of a more eloquent analysis: arrgghh. (These sentiments not helped by the fact our transfer was delayed by an hour, allowing for a whole range of hypotheses to float through my mind, although having been told to attend with a full bladder these thoughts were ultimately eclipsed by more pressing physical concerns).

Anyway, like I said, I’m an idiot. They only had to defrost one. It survived fully intact and is the same grade as the Nipper. It went in fine and now we have one little snowflake on board, and one still in the freezer. A good position to be in.

And I have to give myself a shake and a slap and remember how lucky we have been, both with our last cycle and with the smooth running of this one. There are many out there who have a far tougher time. The reason we were late is that the first two transfers were “difficult”. I don’t know what this means precisely, but I hope for those first two couples those difficulties were resolved, and they have a successful outcome.

Anyway, now for a few days of lounging about the house in PJs, pretending to work but spending most of my time googling “How early can I take a home pregnancy test?” and eating toast.

It’s funny how reality can crystallise nebulous feelings. I was never keen on the idea of IVF, but when we were told it was our only option, all doubt vanished. Likewise this time, whilst I have no doubt that I want another child, my feelings have been mixed about the process, for various reasons: the drugs seemed much tougher this time; work is not great; there are decisions about my career to be made; and life with a ninky nonk Nipper is wonderful but not always easy; and then there’s the guilt for even thinking about these other things. Anyway, now that our little blastocyst is on board, the fog has lifted and all that matters now is getting that BFP.

Please stick, little snowflake. Please, please stick.

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