by Hodge, Sibel
‘We’re going to be parents.’ Karl picked me up and spun me around, oblivious to all the other people coming and going. ‘This is going to work. I’ve got a great feeling about it.’
‘Agh! Put me down. You’re making me dizzy.’ I giggled.
‘Sorry.’ He released his hold on me.
I stood staring up at the hospital where our embryos were being stored. Our babies. There are events in your life that are so profoundly important they can be categorized as either pre-event or post-event. This was one of them. Before I stepped through that door, I wasn’t pregnant. When I stepped out, I’d have my two little beans inside me, waiting to start their life. I was scared and happy and excited all at once.
‘Are you ready to go in?’ Karl took my hand, smiling down at me.
Come on babies. Come to mama.
I nodded. ‘Yep. I’ve been ready for nearly two years.’
****
I was back in a cubicle again in one of the sexy hospital gowns. Everyone said the embryo transfer wasn’t a painful procedure, but then they’d said I’d only feel some cramps with the HCG and egg retrieval and they were agony, so I was still nervous about what to expect.
‘The doctor will be in to talk to you about your embryos in a minute,’ Claire said as I looked at my watch for the hundredth time.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled and took some deep breaths.
‘I’m really proud of you, Gina.’ Karl reached for my hand. ‘You’re so strong and determined. You go for everything you want with such energy. You’re going to be a fantastic mum.’
‘Oh, stop it. You’ll make me cry, and I don’t want to cry today.’ I hugged him, feeling tears prick behind my eyelids.
Luckily, he was saved from making me more emotional by the arrival of the doctor.
‘Hi, I’m Dr Swanson, your reproductive endocrinologist.’ A middle-aged woman with straight black hair poked her head around the cubicle curtain.
I repeated her name in my head because I wanted to remember the name of the woman who implanted my embryos forever. I’d have her to thank when it all worked out.
‘What’s your first name?’ I asked her, thinking I could name the baby after her out of gratitude.
‘Maude,’ she said, sitting down on the corner of my bed.
OK, maybe not, then.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked me.
‘Nervous and excited.’ I grinned.
She grinned back and nodded. ‘Let me tell you a little bit about your embryos.’ She glanced down at a folder of notes she had in her hand and pulled out a small picture of two round blobs that looked a bit like flowers. ‘This is a picture of them.’ She handed it to me and Karl stood over my shoulder to get a better look. ‘By now we would’ve liked to see them divide into at least eight cells, but yours haven’t.’
I took a sharp breath, hearing the suck of air through my mouth. ‘Oh, so that’s bad, then?’ My voice came out high with astonishment.
‘One of your eggs is still at the four-cell stage and one is at six cells, which means they’re a little underdeveloped. The important thing to remember is that women give birth to healthy babies all the time when they’re implanted with a six-cell embryo, so there’s still a fantastic chance of a successful pregnancy. Four-cell embryos have also gone on to produce a live birth, but realistically they have a lower chance of implantation,’ she said.
‘Oh.’ My jaw dropped and I blinked at her. I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Karl, who looked as devastated by the news as I felt.
‘I just want to be clear,’ Karl said firmly. ‘You’re not saying it won’t work if you transfer them? It could still work, even though they’re underdeveloped?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, it could still work. As I said, it’s perfectly possible you’ll achieve a live birth with them.’ She looked at me. ‘I’d recommend we perform the embryo transfer as planned.’
I stared at the picture I held in my hand, feeling an overwhelming attachment to them. They were ours. Karl’s and mine. I certainly hadn’t come all this way to turn down my embryos just because they were a little bit underdeveloped. We still had a fighting chance, and boy was I going to take it.
‘Yes, I want to go ahead.’ I nodded enthusiastically.
‘Good.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.’
When she left, Karl sat on the bed and hugged me. ‘It will work. I know it will. So what if they’re underdeveloped? As long as they’ve got your fighting spirit, they’ll be fine.’ He stroked my shoulder.
‘Of course it will work.’ I tried to push out all the worries and negative thoughts that seemed to be suddenly invading my brain.
Fears and worries are just thoughts. I don’t want you in my head so bugger off! It will work.
A few minutes later, I was back in the same room with the serving hatch, lying on my back with Karl clutching my hand for dear life as we looked at Dr Swanson and the nurse arranging more space age equipment and something that looked like a turkey baster.
‘Ouch,’ I said to him as his grip got harder.
He loosened it. ‘Oh, God, sorry.’
‘Are you ready?’ Dr Swanson turned to me.
I nodded vigorously.
‘I’m going to insert a speculum first of all, then we’ll use a solution to clear any cervical mucus that may hinder the placement of the embryos.’
I grinned up at Karl with excitement.
Claire put some gel on my stomach and rubbed an ultrasound scanner head over it. ‘This is so Dr Swanson can accurately implant the embryos into the best position,’ she said.
I craned my neck, looking at the scanning machine to get a bird’s-eye view of seeing them when they went in.
‘I’m just inserting the catheter that contains the embryos into your cervix and up into your uterus.’ Dr Swanson carried on looking at the screen, and I saw the catheter/turkey baster going in. ‘Just going to find the best position for them.’
I stared at the screen, fascinated until she said, ‘I’m going to release them from the catheter now.’
Karl resumed his vice-like grip on my hand. I squeezed back.
‘And there they are.’ She pointed at the fuzzy black and white screen, but I couldn’t see much.
‘We’ll give you an ultrasound picture to take with you.’ Claire smiled at us.
‘Oh, wow, thanks,’ I said. The second picture of our babies in one day. How amazing was this!
‘OK, you need to keep lying down and rest for two hours before you can go home,’ Dr Swanson said. ‘You should take it easy for the first couple of days. That means no heavy lifting, no strenuous activity. No hot baths or swimming pools. No intercourse and no orgasms until we know the results of the pregnancy test.’
‘So I don’t need to rest in bed for the first two days?’ I asked.
‘No, but definitely take it easy,’ she said. ‘After the first couple of days you can return to work, as long as it doesn’t require lifting, being immersed in water, or physical exertion. You can also do light housework and drive.’
‘Gotcha,’ I said, thinking I might spend the first two days in bed, anyway, just to be on the safe side.
‘And you’ll need to insert the vaginal progesterone suppositories every night from tonight onwards. You may get some spotting or cramps. Spotting can be from the catheter, which may irritate the uterus lining, or from the hormonal drugs, but it can also be implantation spotting that happens when the embryo burrows into the lining of your uterus and implants itself to begin growing. You can do a pregnancy test on day fourteen and let us know the results. You can test from day eleven, but we recommend you wait. Do you have any questions?’
I had a million questions. Would it work? Would I have twins? Would they be healthy? Was all spotting good? What if I didn’t have spotting – did that mean it wasn’t working? How can I wait two weeks to find out? But they weren’t questions she could answer. Now it was a waiting game.
The Two-Week Wait
Fourteen Days. Two weeks. 336 hours. 20,160 minutes. 1,209, 600 seconds.
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
It’s a lifetime. Infertility hell. It’s how long I wished the time was when we were having that fab holiday in Thailand three years ago, but it seemed to zoom past in a flash. Now it was the opposite. I wanted to blink and it would be over, but it was there, looming on forever in the distance. Why was it when you wanted the time to go quickly it never did? A letter by snail mail used to take seven days to arrive and now it’s an email that takes a second to be delivered. A boat journey to Australia used to take six weeks. Now, it’s a twenty-four hour flight away. So why did it take two sodding weeks to find out if you were pregnant?
I’d already had so many two-week waits, wondering if this would be the month I’d get pregnant, but this, by far, was the most important one.
I decided to stay in bed for two days, just to be on the safe side. I mean, what if the embryos accidentally fell out while I was walking around? I couldn’t take the risk.
I was so in tune with my body it was like I’d put myself under a magnifying glass. Was that cramping I just felt or wind? What was that twinge? I need a wee again. Hang on a sec…didn’t I just go a minute ago? Frequent urination was a sign of pregnancy – it must be working! God, my boobs are sore. Yep, another sure sign. And they’ve grown. Note to self: If I start spotting, it must be implantation spotting and must definitely not be confused with my period.
I promised myself I wasn’t going to go on the internet and start checking out symptoms of pregnancy again. In fact, I wouldn’t go on it at all. I would ban myself from it completely. It had been one of my best friends in my quest to get pregnant but it could also be my enemy.
I didn’t last long. Four hours, eight wees, and a twinge later, I was on my laptop in bed, where I discovered stories of women following a diet high in yams prior to embryo transfer, because apparently there was a tribe of African women who were the most fertile in the world who ate a diet high in yams. It was the same tribe that drank the wee. Weird. Then there was another story about Cold Uterus Syndrome. Apparently, if you had cold feet it meant your uterus was cold, which equalled poor blood flow to the embryos and lack of nutrition, so hundreds of women were walking around twenty-four hours a day with thick socks on to counteract it.
What? Why wasn’t I told this? Why didn’t Dr Swanson insist I eat lots of yams and wear socks? Could we even get yams here? I’d never seen them in the supermarket. And did a sweet potato count as the same thing? Another note to self: send Karl out for a kilo of sweet potatoes when he gets home.
For the first few days, I stared at the two pictures of my embryos, scrutinizing them. If I held them in a particular light, could I see what sex they were? Wait, was one of the two fuzzy specks on the ultrasound picture actually smiling at me? Two amazing, miracle little specks. Six cells and four cells. If I added that up together it made ten cells, which meant they were perfectly developed, didn’t it? I felt so proud of myself. I felt happy. I’d come this far and it would work. Definitely, positively, absolutely would work.
I meditated in bed and used Suzanne’s visualization techniques. I saw my embryos burrowing in, growing stronger by the second. I told myself over and over again that they would strengthen into healthy babies. I begged Zelda to make it happen.
On the third day, I got out of bed and pottered around the house. I spoke to Amelia, Poppy, and Suzanne on the phone, who were there to give me support. Poppy didn’t even mind me ringing her at all hours to talk about this twinge or that little spot of blood I’d discovered. It was a good sign to have those cramps, wasn’t it? The doctor had said it could be the embryos burrowing in. Were the cramps I was getting implantation cramps? Yes, they must be. Only another infertile woman could talk for two hours about cramps. I phoned Kerry to talk about Elise, hoping that her baby vibes would transfer down the phone to my uterus. I wore two pairs of socks at all times.
On day four, I had some clients booked in, which I was hoping would take my mind off thinking, but it didn’t. Everyone was asking me how things were going, and it was all I wanted to talk about, and all I could think about. I asked Karl to reassure me that if I hadn’t eaten millions of yams or drunk wee before the IVF it would still work. He affirmed that not only had I been eating a perfectly healthy diet all this time, but that my uterus was a warm and cosy place to be, with or without socks. I promised myself (another one!) that I wouldn’t do a pregnancy test until at least day fourteen.
On day five, I visited Suzanne for crystal healing. She let me ramble on excitedly about everything. How I was craving pickles, how my boobs were sore, how my jeans didn’t fit me like they did the day before. That could only mean one thing, couldn’t it? On the way home, a butterfly landed on me and I just knew it was a sign from Zelda telling me that my embryos were happy and healthy.
On day six, I was on the internet again. I couldn’t help myself. Most of the internet searches for fertility stories had to do with pregnancy symptoms: Cramping after IVF treatment. Do sore breasts after IVF equal pregnancy? Is spotting after IVF normal? Can wearing socks improve uterus nutrition for embryos?
What if I did a pregnancy test now? Would it show up? There was one woman on Fertility Friends who tested on day six and got a positive reading. Should I do it, too? If I tested now and it was negative that meant it still wouldn’t be final. If it was negative, I’d still have a chance at being pregnant. I mean, I was sure I was pregnant, so really it was just a formality. But deep down, even though I was sure, I had a teensy weensy part of my brain in doubt. Did I want the fantasy of finally being pregnant to end?
On day seven, my boobs were so sore I couldn’t sleep on my front anymore. That had to be a good sign. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I cracked and did a pregnancy test. It was negative. Even though I knew it was way too soon, part of me told me it was over. I wasn’t pregnant. But then the other part of me shouted in my head: You had cramps. You had spotting. It was definitely implantation spotting. They’re still there, burrowing away in your very warm uterus. It’s too soon to test. I cried for the first time. Then I went back on the Internet and pored over articles, only reading the ones that confirmed what I was praying was true. It was definitely too early to get a positive result. It wasn’t over yet. Karl told me off for testing too early, and I asked him to hide all the pregnancy tests I’d amassed.
On day eight, I was feeling restless. I couldn’t sit down, I couldn’t stand still, I was spacey, I couldn’t sleep. My brain felt sluggish, like I’d turned into a slow-worm overnight. I needed to know. I rummaged around in the house to try and find where Karl had hidden the tests. I couldn’t find them so I went out and bought one, and tested again. I know, I know, but all the waiting was frying my brain. It was negative. I rang all my friends, wanting reassurance that it was still too early.
On day nine, I vowed not to go on the Internet or test again. This time I managed it, although the what ifs were creeping in big time. What if it this treatment failed? Should we try again? Do I want to try again? What if we go to Australia? What if it didn’t work out when we got there? What if I really was crazy for thinking about travelling? Then I pushed all the negative thoughts to the back of my head and replaced them with happy, positive ones. I didn’t want to obsess about it. I was sick to death of obsessing.
I went for a long walk with Karl, who tried to take my mind off things by cracking jokes. We watched DVDs. Anything not to try and think. I even cleaned out my cupboards, believing that the sudden urge was my body’s way of telling me to do the nesting thing.
On day ten, I was having a breathing exercise and meditation-fest. Suzanne came to the house and did them with me before giving me a crystal healing session. It relaxed me for about five minutes, until the pull of the pregnancy tests were getting too much for me to cope with. Dr Swanson said I could test tomorrow but it was better to wait for day fourteen. Should I test? No. I should wait. Could I wait, though? That was the q
uestion. Yes, of course I could. It wasn’t like I was impatient or anything. Much.
On day eleven, I woke up with severe cramps. I lay in the darkness, willing them to go away. After an hour, they were still there so I went to the bathroom to check for blood.
I wiped myself.
No blood.
Phew!
But even though there was no blood I felt like I wasn’t pregnant. Then I pushed the thought away. If I didn’t think it or say it out loud then it wouldn’t become a reality. Technically, I could do the test now and find out. That was what Dr Swanson had said, but should I wait? Maybe the cramps didn’t mean anything. Maybe they were normal. I tortured myself in the darkness, wondering what to do. I woke Karl and asked his opinion. He said I should wait, so he held me tight in the darkness until the morning. Then I was back on the Internet, searching for signs of hope.
No, cramps didn’t always mean you weren’t pregnant. Yes, it could still have worked.
Right. OK. Take a deep breath. Relax.
Relax? Yeah, right!
On day twelve, I had a monster headache but I wouldn’t take anything for it. No drugs were passing my lips until I knew the truth. I don’t know how I got through the day without turning into a complete basket case, but somehow I did. I tried to push all thoughts of it out of my head. And it worked, too. For about five seconds.
On day thirteen, I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d bought a special digital thermometer for the occasion because I couldn’t be messing around looking for two lines on the other ones. I wanted it spelled out to me in black and white “Pregnant.” My plan was to wake up at seven and take the test. When I got the positive result, I’d rush off to the supermarket and buy a congratulations on being a dad card for Karl. Then I’d scrawl in it in baby handwriting, as if it were from our little beans to their daddy.
