I have been crying a lot. When I haven't been crying, I've been thinking about when I could have some time alone to cry. Or sleeping. I know a lot of people have insomnia when they're grieving. I've found I'm the opposite - I can hardly stay awake past 10pm, and I sleep heavily, unable to remember my dreams.
I'm having a major pity party.
It never occurred to me that we'd get nothing from IVF.
Stupid, I know. We knew the stats, 30% odds. Why did we assume that we'd be in that 30%, knowing what we know about statistics? We learned the hard way the past year and a half. What were the odds that I'd get preeclampsia? That it wouldn't be caught? That my doctor would insist everything was fine, just a week and a half before? That my daughter would die? That I'd have a miscarriage after that? That we wouldn't be able to get pregnant again? Odds of any one of those things are small. Odds of all those things together, smaller than even that. So I know that statistics haven't been on my side in the baby making game.
And yet, I believed. I gave the injections and went in for the extraction, and when I heard that 7 fertilized, that 4 were being sent off for testing, I had hope.
Not foolish hope. I wasn't crazy enough to let myself believe that we'd make it all the way to a live baby; I never let my brain wander that far into the future. But I believed that we'd have one embryo to implant. (OK, full confession - I believed that we'd have two, and they'd transfer both and one would make it, and I'd be sad to lose one, but happy to have the remaining. Yes, my belief was that specific, but I held it close, told no one.) My husband believed all four would make it. He thought that we'd save one or two for a second transfer, a little brother or sister for whoever would come out of the first. My husband is the much more realistic and pessimistic of the two of us, so his belief that all four would come back to us helped me to believe in my lower numbers. If the pessimist thought four, how could it hurt to believe one or two?
But it hurt. Oh, how that call hurt.
"Don't be discouraged," the doctor said. Which is completely unhelpful. Of course I'm discouraged. I'm scared and sad and more discouraged than I've ever been.