It was the 4th month after my surgery and my window for success was nearing it’s end.

It felt like the sun was setting, and we were in for a REALLY LONG NIGHT.

A few weeks ago I had been riding high on hope, thinking I might have a stash of frozen eggs so that I could have the luxury of multiple tries before giving up, but that was not the case.

Despair was consuming me, and yet the tiniest tinge of relief was starting to seep through the cracks of my broken heart; I was desperate for this torture to end. It was time we actually allowed ourselves to go through the stages of grief so that we could eventually move on with our lives.

Living in limbo had literally sucked our souls dry (and only those who have been through it can understand how merciless and torturous this journey is).

Or as Brené Brown so perfectly describes it

“The torture chamber of uncertainty.”

We were also tortured by a searing cognitive dissonance; we welcomed the relief of the end – of knowing the outcome – and yet we didn’t want it to end like this; in total “failure”.

YES, we had thought of donor eggs, but if I was incapable of getting pregnant then what was the point?

And YES, I considered a surrogate, but when I looked into it I was informed that, for my condition, it was illegal; that “not being able to get pregnant” does NOT qualify as criteria for a surrogate (at least in this state) – you had to either have had multiple miscarriages or not have a uterus at all (and besides the legal fees are up to $150,000). But how could I possibly have “multiple miscarriages” if I couldn’t get pregnant?

And YES, we had considered adoption, but we needed to exhaust these options first before going down that path. Besides, it is, sadly, so difficult (and expensive) to adopt here in Australia that we would probably have to move to America or South America in order to pursue that option. In fact, people who have done IVF first and then adopted end up spending an unfathomable fortune, and then spend most of their life trying to recover financially. 

I was also reaching a point of sheer desperation with my chronic pelvic pain, and the IVF was only making it worse. If I wasn’t actively trying for a baby then I would start to aggressively pursue treatments for my chronic pain: I was considering stronger pain pills, cannabis oil, amitriptyline (for chronic nerve pain), botox (injected into the pelvic floor), an IUD (Intra Uterine Device), or even a hysterectomy. I couldn’t even get the “internal releases” anymore from the physical therapist since I was doing IVF.

I was frustrated beyond belief; in a state of limbo, a loop of continual suffering, unable to pursue treatments but also unable to get pregnant.

I couldn’t help myself when I entered the doctor’s office. It wasn’t just the disappointment of the last cycle that destroyed me, but it was my excruciating period and pelvic pain that was leaving me listless. I burst into tears and confessed to the doctor that I wasn’t sure how much more physical pain I could endure.

Dr. K listened empathetically.

We discussed my options.

I had 2 frozen embryos (fertilised eggs).

One was from my first cycle at the public clinic a year and a half ago (the precious embryo I had refused to put in during The Natural Cycle), and I had one more precious “frostie” from this last stimulated cycle with Dr. K.

These were the only eggs that had ever made it to the Day 5 “blastocyst” stage – these were the ONLY embryos that I had frozen.

“I’d like to put two embryos in to give you the highest chance of success,” Dr. K said.

I gulped.

That meant I would have no “frosties” left – that meant this was my LAST TRY.

The doctor said I could try another “stimulated” IVF cycle if I’d like to, but that due to the severe damage to my ovaries from the endometriosis he couldn’t guarantee that I would get any good embryos this time: in other words I could spend another $10k and end up with NOTHING at the end of it.

He seemed hesitant to pursue this option, especially considering the amount of physical pain I was in.

“Let’s try putting in the two embryos,” he said confidently, “We’ll control your hormones, and continue the steroids and the intralipid infusions.”

I nodded in consent.

This would be my first ever frozen cycle and I had never put in 2 embryos before, so I tried my hardest to maintain the tiniest level of positivity, but I could tell that my relationship with hope was shattered for good.

My husband and I decided that this cycle would be for closure.

Knowing that this would be our last try affected us in a very profound way. Sobbing became a daily ritual and I wasn’t sure how long the grieving process would last, but I was prepared for several months, or even years, of pure misery.

I also knew this would put our relationships to test, and I had a feeling that the friends and family that were incapable of handling, or respecting, our grief would ,unfortunately, be forever tainted in our minds – these relationships never to be the same.

At this point I had now been on the steroids for several months and I commenced on oral estrogen tablets and vaginal progesterone pessaries. I had regular blood tests to check my hormone levels and regular scans with Dr. K to monitor the thickness of my uterine lining.

I had to admit, this frozen cycle felt like a piece of cake compared to the other cycles I had been through. Luckily, I responded well to the hormones and my uterine lining was an appropriate thickness when the doctor reviewed me. He set the date for the embryo transfer and I drove home in a state of near-catatonia.

“This is it,” I thought, “this is the end.”

Jarod had started the grieving process long before me, so by the time the embryo transfer date arrived he was already emotionally checked out; he just couldn’t attend the appointment with me.

Instead of getting upset, I respected his decision and did not push him any further. I completely understood why he couldn’t be there (once again, I’d like to emphasize that the partners of the women going through IVF get very little recognition for their suffering or emotional support).

So my sister-in-law, Karissa, came up and sat with me through my intralipid infusion, trying her hardest to keep me distracted and cheer me up. The infusion took several hours, and I spent the whole time in a state of anxiety, wondering if my two eggs would survive the defrosting process. People don’t realise that the day you go in for the “embryos transfer” could end up being a day of utter heartbreak – when the scientist informs you that you have no embryo after all – as there is no guarantee that the egg will survive defrosting.

So, as all IVF peeps do, I prepared myself for bad news.

I sat on the procedure table, with clammy palms, a clenched jaw and a poker face.

The scientist came out and informed me that the embryo from my most recent cycle (the ICSI embryo) had defrosted well and was continuing to duplicate exactly as it should.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

The other egg (the petrie-dish embryo from the public clinic that had been frozen for a year and a half), on the other hand, HAD survived the defrosting process but “wasn’t looking so good.”

“It’s not doing anything,” the scientist informed me, “in fact, it’s practically dead,” he said bluntly, “though I don’t really like to use that word.” He did not look very confident, “It’s just not doing much,” he shrugged dejectedly.

My shoulders slumped.

The lump in my throat was snowballing.

My sister-in-law sat there silently, trying to take in the complexities of this unfamiliar process.

The doctor looked at me and asked what I wanted to do. I felt completely overwhelmed. I just wanted to choose whatever would give me the highest chance of success.

My beautiful friend Rachel, my IVF nurse, looked at me empathetically as I pondered this difficult decision.

The doctor waited for my answer and I shrugged again forlornly – I honestly didn’t know what to do; I was SO OVERWHELMED.

“There is some data to show that if you put a good embryo in with a bad one that it can send conflicting signals to your uterus,” he informed me.

I kept shrugging.

I didn’t know what to do.

He was the professional.

I wanted him to make the decision.

The scientist remained grim and pessimistic. He seemed to think the second embryo wasn’t worth putting in.

“How many cells survived?” Dr. K asked eventually him.

“90%” the scientist replied.

Dr. K laughed with obvious relief, “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Ok, we’re putting both in.”

I felt immense relief that the doctor had made the decision for me. He explained that if less than 50% of the cells survived defrosting then they wouldn’t even consider putting it in, but that 90% was really good and he was happy to proceed with the transfer.

“Are you sure you’d be happy with twins?” He asked me one last time, as if it would work.

I nodded but laughed, practically scoffed, in dubiousness.

As if I would get pregnant with twins. I’ve never been pregnant in my life!

I laid in the familiar position on the table, legs spread wide with a plastic catheter shoved up my vagina – IVF women nod in humorous understanding – and, under ultrasound, the doctor skillfully directed the flexible catheter through my cervix and into the uterus.

The scientist brought the microscopic/invisible eggs in a syringe and the doctor squirted this fluid with the embryos into my uterus through the tube/catheter. It was fascinating to watch the ultrasound. I could see the fluid come through the tube and land against the lining of my uterus. It was so surreal thinking that two live embryos had just been placed inside of me. Five minutes ago I wasn’t pregnant, and now, within a few seconds, I suddenly needed to behave as though I was pregnant until I got “the dreaded phone call”.

He flushed the catheter and the scientist checked the syringe to make sure that both embryos had been transferred into my uterus. He confirmed the syringe was empty and the procedure was over.

Now it was time for the “Two Week Wait from Hell“.