If I’d allowed myself to think about the two week wait before we started IVF – which I didn’t, for that meant assuming that we’d get enough eggs and sperm, and that they would fertilise and make it to a stage suitable to be transferred, which all made me tear-up just to think about – then I think I may have assumed that I’d be chomping at the bit to pee on a stick and find out if it had worked.
Funnily enough, though, I’m not.
It’s not that I don’t want to be pregnant just as much as I ever have done. Or even simply that I’m afraid of a negative result – although, of course, I am. It’s a more complex truth. At this moment in time I’m possibly as close to being pregnant as I’ll ever get again. So right now, I’m full of hope and optimism for a future as a family of four, with a new baby joining our family before this year is over.
Hope is something that is often in short supply for the completely infertile. By which I mean those couples amongst us where the male partner has azoospermia, or the female partner has completely blocked or absent tubes, or any other cause where the chances of getting pregnant without external help have dwindled to nothing. I don’t envy anyone with a diagnosis of “unexplained infertility” (hell, of course I don’t – I wouldn’t wish infertility of any kind on any person). It must be deeply frustrating to not know why things aren’t working. But at least there is still a tiny glimmer of hope each passing month that his will be the lucky one, the one where something was a tiny bit different. On the infertility forums I’m been dipping in to lately, stories abound of women getting their longed for positive the month before their IVF cycle was due to start. For us, if this doesn’t work, there is no hope of a miracle natural conception to soften the blow.
As soon as I see the test result, my hopeful state of mind will be gone. A dream shattered to smithereens by a single pink line. Or a sense of hope replaced immediately by fear when a second line appears.
Ah, yes, fear – that familiar pregnancy companion. Fear that it won’t be ongoing. Fear that something – anything – will go wrong. That my blood sugars won’t be good enough. Or some other unforeseen issue will arise. If this works, I know it only the beginning of another journey itself.
For now, I simply have hope. It’s actually quite a nice place to be.