8dp5dt: nope.

Game's pretty much over. For some insane reason, Big Shiny Fertility Factory likes to do their betas two goddamn weeks after a 5-day transfer. This makes zero sense, except in the respect that it save them the effort of even dealing with women with short-lived chemical pregnancies. By 19dpo, either you're showing up good and dark on a plain ol' urine test, or you're negative and have been for some time. Which means that you've spent at least a solid week getting painful, expensive, and unnecessary rump-injections. Worse, many women (not me) may have spent an entire extra week consuming neither alcohol, caffeine, nor sushi.

I delicately pointed this out to my nurse, who agreed to let me come in on Friday (15dpo). Much better. At least I can spend the weekend letting my glutes recover.

I'm okay. I'm starting to try to wrap my head around the possibility that this may not be the story of my difficult journey towards the family I have always envisioned. It may be the story of my journey towards letting go of that vision.

I have an embarrassingly large collection of beautiful high-end baby carriers. I guess when the time comes I'll sell them and buy myself something really, really pretty.

5dp5dt: the evidence for and against

Data that support my being pregnant this cycle:

1. I did a super good job of distracting myself. In fact, we decided to up and get married with two weeks' notice, which definitely took my mind off Things.  The planning was a bit crazy, but the wedding was lovely. And three days after the wedding, we transferred two blastocysts to my uterus.
    
2. My lining rocked, which is to say that it was over 8mm, which for an Asherman's patient is awesome.
    
3. It would be hilarious if I got pregnant the same week I got married, so people could count back and make jokes about shotgun weddings.
    
4. I have been chock full of symptoms. Heavy draggy cramps, sore breasts, I got 'em. I have been quietly Sure for days.
    
5. My acupuncturist said I had really good energy. 

Data that support my not being pregnant this cycle:

1. It's 5dp5dt, or 10dpo, and my test strips are stark, stark white. I have been pregnant four times, not counting the lame-o chemical. I have never not had at least a faint line by now. Good betas, bad betas, I always had something by now.

There are 5 reasons why I am pregnant this cycle, and only 1 reason why I am not. The mathematically-inclined observer will note that 5>1.

Sadly, though, I think that single piece of evidence against rather outweighs  the five votes for.

Pills and newborns and ramblings

The first step to an IVF cycle is the taking of birth control pills, and believe me, the irony of this is lost on no one.

I hate this bit. They make me depressed, they make me nauseated, and I have the sneaking suspicion that they're not actually necessary. But I'm also apparently not interested in fighting it, so the little yellow pills I do pop.

I just got back from a solo cross-country visit with my best friend and her family, which consists of a husband, two preschoolers, a two month old baby, and an adolescent dog the size of a Shetland pony.

I had a great time. I was a bit nervous that my Crazy would boil over and get all over the newborn's sweet fuzzy head -- this is the baby that BFF was pregnant with while I was (briefly) pregnant with the Sea Monkeys, and I had so fondly imagined us being the mothers of newborns together.

But it was better than fine.  There was a certain leaning-on-the-bruise aspect, but it was far outweighed by the sensory delight of handling a tiny baby again. I got to wear him a good deal, and I love wearing babies. I smelled his head and stroked his wee crumpled hands and gave him bottles and it was not even bittersweet, just sweet with a side of wistful.

The only really painful moment was an unexpected one -- I was wearing him on my back and BFF and I were picking up the two older kids from nursery school. One of the other moms was chatting and airily said to BFF, upon being told that I was visiting "Oh, my best friend doesn't have kids either, it's great because they can help out, huh?"  It was a perfectly innocent thing to say, but I was just overwhelmed with ouch and couldn't say a thing back. I just froze. What felt like a year and was probably a few seconds later, BFF firmly corrected  her and said "no, she has a little boy at home with her partner".  And the world started again and everything was fine.

I mean, it wasn't a crazy assumption. How many mothers can just take off across the country to visit a friend? (Mothers of one who have a tolerant partner, that's who.) And how was she supposed to know, looking at me, that I am a mother? She couldn't see my c-section scar. I wasn't wearing a pin that said I gestated a child, ask me how!

I don't know why that spiked my grief, or why even remembering it now is so painful. Maybe because just for a minute it dangles me over the cliff of how close I came to not being a mother at all. It's becoming clear that my body doesn't love producing babies. Maybe our little guy was a complete fluke, a one-in-a-million. Maybe someone is going to show up and tell me that it was all a mistake and I don't get to keep him after all.  Nope. I don't care. I'm not giving him back.

This morning I was telling my boss about my trip and seeing the new baby. "It didn't give you ideas, did it?" she joked.

"Hahaha!" said I. "Ha! Ha."





It was a lovely trip. We ate stunningly good food, got massaged, got manicured and pedicure'd, and engaged in plenty of the activity I've missed most: chatting aimlessly with my best friend within hugging range. I'm awfully glad I went.