Fertility Treatment Failure: Third Time Unlucky

I didn’t mean to give the game away with the title. In fact, when I started writing this post it was entitled Fertility Treatment Failure: Third Time Lucky. I am actually an optimistic person despite recent events. That was before.

It’s 1pm. I’m sat on a curb. I’ve just come from the clinic.

I’ve been writing about my treatment gradually. Piece by piece. The same as the treatment. Every time these pieces start out positive. Every time they end up negative.

This one will be no different.

Let me take you through the steps that got me here.

—

I’m not actually sure if this counts as my third time, maybe it would be more accurate to call it my second and a half time. For those of you who aren’t up to speed with where I’m at, here’s a snapshot of my story to date.

Girl meets boy. Marries. Has baby. Divorces. Feels shit for years. Takes back control of her life by deciding to become a solo mum by choice. Tries to get pregnant by squirting some sperm up her. Fails. Tries to try again. Fails before they even try (womb lining too thin for treatment).

And voila, here we are. Third time ~~lucky~~ unlucky.

This time there is no sperm to buy. It’s still (hopefully) sitting in the fridge of the clinic ready for my next attempt. The nurse has ordered the medication. I’ve been trying to practice self-care over the last week or so in an attempt to not feel quite so exhausted and pissed off with the world.

After what seemed like forever, my period finally made an appearance and everything started.

Blood tests.

Results.

Treatment.

This time was a combination of six days of nightly injections and a couple of rounds of Acupuncture (known as Apple plunging to my son) to keep me sane and (hopefully) help the old womb lining grow.

The side-effects seemed to be achy legs and joints, disturbed sleep, and – today – something resembling morning sickness and faintness.

And then here we are today. Day 9. Scan day. This is where the clinic checks if, and – crucially – how many of, your follicles are growing.

I arrived at the clinic early. The nurse called me straight in. Things were looking good.

By now it was second nature to strip off, spread my legs and have a probe shoved inside me. I could tell she was measuring something by the way the probe was pressing down inside me, from side to side. That seemed like good news.

“Clean yourself up and then let’s sit down”

“You have a

22,

19,

15,

14,

and

13,

follicle.”

She informed me. Wow. That’s a lot of follicles, I thought happily.

Then the realisation hit. Shit.

What a waste. All those beautiful eggs ending up in London’s decrepit plumbing system.

Five follicles equals five potential kids. It’s one way to beat the government’s two child policy but there’s no way the clinic are letting me go ahead with that risk. The treatment will be cancelled.

Just last night I lay in bed feeling so pleased with myself for not getting stressed out about this upcoming treatment. I’m pretty sure all fertility treatment is stressful, not getting an occasional hug or sympathetic shoulder to lean on doesn’t help matters. Now it’s not happening again I’m gutted. The nurse wanted to talk things through. I wanted to get out of there and cry in peace.

On my way home some wanker in a van decided to have a go at me, essentially for daring to be on the road with only two wheels. It ended when he spat in my face and sped off, a group of school children jeering at my distress.

I’m not sure this day could get any worse.

Then the heavens open. My thirty minute cycle home took almost an hour thanks to one of the worst rain showers London has ever known. As the thunder rolls through the sky for a brief moment I think if I’m struck down by lightening I wouldn’t be surprised. A drowned rat would have looked severely dehydrated stood next to me by the time I got home.

Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow I will regroup my strength. For now, I’m putting on my PJs, switching on the telly and getting some pizza. It feels like this constant fighting to achieve anything in this life, from getting out of bed, to creating another life, has become a pattern. It’s doable, of course it is. Just like getting through this and this and this is. It’s just that it’s so

ex-

haus-

ting.

So, tonight I will wallow.

Tomorrow I will start the process again. Waiting and willing for my next bleed so I can start this cycle of emotional torture again. And hopefully, one day, I’ll be rewarded with the best thing ever. A baby.

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This post is part of my single mum by choice series. You can read all about it here:

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