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May 30 / Caro

Negative: The Rest of the Story

At a quarter past six this morning, with pale sunlight working its way around the edges of the blinds and Thomas chattering happily to his trains in his rooms, my heart broke just a little bit more. In my hand was another negative pregnancy test.

If you’ve read the first half of this story, you won’t be at all surprised by that. In fact, you would probably go so far as to wonder why I might have dared to dream that a second pink line would be present, or had even peed on the stick at all. But you see, whilst everything I wrote before was absolutely true, it wasn’t quite the end of the story. I’d hoped – perhaps naively, but definitely stupidly – that I might be able to write a post titled something like “A Miracle Happened Here” and surprise everyone with a pregnancy in a way I’ve long since stopped hoping for.

A miracle so nearly did happen. But this morning, at a quarter past six, I learned that, once again, now is not our time for a happy ending.

The miracle-in-the making was one tiny embryo that came in to existence against all the odds, fertilising later on the same day that I’d received the crushing news that none of my eggs had fertilised. What followed that week is something that deserves a post of its own, but suffice to say it was full of difficult decisions and a moment where I’m sure I caused an embryologist to swear. Against all the odds, our single embryo became a blastocyst, and was transferred back to me.

I knew it was a massive long shot, but it had already come through so much just to be transferred, I thought we might have had a fighter on our hands.

Seeing that blank, stark white space next to the control line was both shocking and completely unsurprising all at once. I got Thomas up, and we went downstairs for breakfast and to pack his nursery bag. Normal life went on.

I only cried when I got in to the shower. I quite like crying in the shower. The hot steam makes my nose and throat feel less thick and the water washes away the evidence of sticky, salty tracks on my cheeks.

My red-rimmed, puffy eyes when I get out are still a dead give away though.

Perhaps it’s really over now.



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  1. Amy Robinson / May 30 2014

    I’m sorry Caro, truly sorry. Thinking of you. x

    • Caro / May 31 2014

      Thanks. I hope you are doing well and the wedding planning is coming along well!

  2. Carie / May 30 2014

    Oh I am so sorry, I so wanted there to be a miracle. Take care of yourself and know that I’m thinking of you x

    • Caro / May 31 2014

      Thank you Carie. I really appreciate your support.

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