“The embryos already look like Wendy,” the doctor says, and it is just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I laugh, with tears in my eyes, as I look at the screen on the wall and confirm that, yes, that is my name typed under two small, fuzzy looking circles. My embryos. The doctor loads them in a long tube to implant them and I hope they won’t have trouble burrowing into the lining of my uterus with all that curly hair they must already have.
I’ve never really been able to picture children who look like me, never really cared for them to have any of my features-God knows I don’t like living with them! If I’ve pictured children at all, it is with my husband’s big, beautiful eyes and olive skin. And my sarcasm. I imagine nine months from now after much pushing and screaming, my baby, once pulled from my womb, will open its eyes, take a look around and say: “What fresh hell is this!?”
As with the first round of IVF, I spend the next two weeks nauseous, crampy and hopeful. We are so very hopeful.
“Maybe this is it!?” we say to each other. “Maybe we are on our way now to becoming the parents we long to be.”
I feel like it has to be it. It must be it. This is going to be it.
The doctor gave us a sonogram showing the little puff of air where he implanted our embryos. I carry it with me in my purse and take it out some times when I am alone on the subway, running my finger over the little white space in my uterus. I run my finger back and forth, up and down. I dream of what’s to come.
Stephen takes off work to be with me the day of the pregnancy test. We go for the blood test first thing in the morning. It is raining as we make our way to the clinic but the sun peeks out from behind the clouds as we leave. A good sign, we agree. We come home and make breakfast and talk about the future. We go for a walk. I look up fertility dances on YouTube and sway my hips about our living room with arms overhead, hoping to bring us good luck.
And after two weeks of hoping and wishing, it is all over so quickly. The clinic calls.
“How are you?” they say.
“Hopefully better in a moment,” I say, hopefully.
“Unfortunately the test for this cycle is negative.”
They’re sorry. I’m sorry. My husband is sorry. Everyone is sorry it didn’t work.
I let out a keening kind of wail once I hang up the phone, the kind I wanted to let out the night my mother died but couldn’t. I beat my fists into the couch cushions. “No. No. No.” Stephen gets up and lies behind me on the couch, holding me tight. We are two question marks lying side by side, dotted by our dog who wags his tail at our affection.
“I’m sorry,” Stephen says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“But when did it stop being alive?” I ask him, between tears. “When exactly did it die? The very day they put it in? How long was it there? When did it die?”
“It didn’t die,” he says. “It was just cells.”
Yes, it was just cells. “It was just cells,” I tell myself as I bleed and bleed for days. There is so much blood. I didn’t know you could bleed this much and not die.
But it was just cells, cells and a plumped up uterine lining. That’s all.
We go back to the fertility clinic to discuss our options. There is a television screen in the hallway of all the beautiful babies born by patients here. I note that in all the months and months of coming here, every day, I have never seen the same picture twice. “Have you?” I ask Stephen. I wonder how long it takes to cycle through all the babies. A year? Two?? These are all the people who had fertility problems and still could be helped.
We talk with the doctor. We will likely need a third party to have a baby. We can’t do it just the two of us like we’re supposed to, even with medical help.
We meet with a fertility counselor, a step mandated by Health Canada before using any kind of donor.
“What do I do with all my pain?” I ask her, “What do I do with all this pain?”
Because I feel pregnant with it. I feel pregnant with despair, with pain and sadness thick about my middle. It shifts and grows and I am certain that you could see it on an ultrasound, blinking there on the screen. I carry it with me everywhere, running my hands over my belly. It fills the space where a baby was supposed to be. Which ever way we try again, I wonder how a baby will ever have room to grow now when my body is lined with so much sorrow.
I am so sorry to hear this, Wendy. {{Hugs}}
Thank you so much Grace. Squeezing you tight {{squish!}}. Really hope all is well with you.
Still thinking of you. I feel like we know each other and I hold you close to my heart. The pain feels endless and I am sure so many take comfort in your writing. Sending you so much support.
I feel like we know each other too and am totally holding you close to my heart wishing and hoping for all the very best for you! Sending so much strength and support your way too!
I couldn’t be more sorry. One way or another, you two will be happy parents one day. Praying.
Thank you so much Freya. I really, really hope so!
Thank you for being so open and honest with your experiences. All of your readers are on this journey with you. Lots of love.
Thank you for coming along for the ride with me SG!
Wendy, my heart is breaking for you. All I know is to pray for you both. I pray that you will be a happy mother of children in your home. (Psalm 113:9) I lay hands on you in the spirit and I believe with all my heart that one day you will indeed be that happy mother. Take good care of each other. I’ll keep praying. (((Love and hugs ))) Elizabeth.
Thank you so much for that beautiful prayer, Elizabeth. It means so very much to me.
So sorry Wendy. Heart-wrenching. Glad we are facebook friends now. Love you. Ruth
So sorry to hear this Wendy. You write so beautifully about the pain of infertility. I found the photos on the clinic wall oddly comforting. That and telling myself that if I kept my mind open to different options I would become a mother one day. I hope you are being well looked after by your loved ones xxx
Thanks so much Kate! The pics are totally comforting, yes! I just thought it was funny for some reason that it could take years to cycle through all of them (a good sign though I think!). Thank you for reminding me to keep an open mind – it can be hard to remember in the thick of it all and it is of course the best advice! All the very best to you.
Should I be bothered by the baby photos displayed in the hallway? Because I am. This clinic serves couples who are having tremendous difficulty conceiving a child, for God’s Sake. These poor couples are bombarded with images of babies and children everywhere they go. Shouldn’t this clinic be their one place of refuge?
Gotta sell the product Mush! I didn’t mean to make it sound like it bothered me so much. For some reason it makes me laugh a little when I’m there, actually. That and the fact that the children’s play area is set up in front of the movie-theatre-style rows and rows of chairs in the waiting room.
I have had success thankfully using a fertility clinic, i’m sure its the same one you went to based on your description. i would like to have one more child but am dreading having to bring my baby in with me for my appointments. such a wierd experience to bring a child into that room.
i wish you luck as you continue on this endeavor. in the end you will somehow be a parent. i know it is so so so so so stressful. but, although surrogacy isn’t the best option, its so incredible that it is an option. it’s expensive, yes, but at the end of the day, that’s just money. sorry you’re going through this but everyone has a different path to their end destination.
Always good to hear a success story, cupcake. Thank you for sharing. I can imagine it must be a weird experience bringing your child with you on the second go round but he or she is probably the best company! I, for one, love watching people’s kids play-oblivious, as they should be, to their surroundings. I watch them thinking that they are hopefully going to get to be a big brother or sister! How exciting! If we are at the same clinic, I will be the one in the back row cooing over how cute and sweet your kid is!
Hi Wendy,
I’ve followed your blog on and off for a couple of years now (I dont even remember how I came across it) but this past year has been hectic so I am just catching up. Very sorry to read about your struggle with infertility. One day you will make a wonderful parent because you sound like a wonderful person. I saw this on facebook and thought of you:
https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork/photos/a.102107073196735.4429.102099916530784/1058452800895486/?type=1&theater
I love this Anya! And of course I love your for reading! Thank you so much for this. I hope this experience at least makes me cry-proof! All the best to you and hoping the rest of the year is much less hectic.
Dear Wendy
I just came across your blog and I’m so sorry you are experiencing this. I too have been down the path (due to severe endometriosis), and after two failed attempts, we ended up with a little human on our third.
So much of the process is uncontrollable which I HATED. So I controlled what I could. In the break between cycle’s 2 and 3 I worked on my egg quality. I did the 5:2 diet as it has been shown to reduce the fat around organs which helps fertility (I’m small to begin with). My Dr prescribed DHEA, however I also took 600mg of CoQ10, two 1000mg tabs of royal jelly, 5mg of folate, 2 tabs of wheatgrass and a pregnancy multivitamin. During the cycle I got massages and did lots of whole of body circulation scrubs to help with blood flow.
Don’t be afraid to question your Dr! I did and we ended up adding an endometrial scratch. This has been shown to increase success rates. I also asked about other drugs and we ended up adding a course of human growth hormone.
Anyway, I just wanted to share as I too did the google thing when we were going through it and the above was the best information I was able to collect. Especially when the donor option was also discussed with us. It was hell – but the second you get that positive the world is instantly a better place.
I wish you nothing but the best!
Thank you so much for all that awesome advice Marc and for saving me from further Googling! I am so happy that the third time was a charm for you! It gives me so much hope to hear from people who have been through it. It can feel so isolating when you are in the throes of it. I hope will have a tiny human at the end too and that the world will instantly be a better place! I love that description! Wishing you all the very best.
Hi Wendy,
I just read a post you wrote on the Mamamia website here in Sydney Australia and I had to jump on your page to see the outcome. I am so sorry it was a shitty outcome. I didn’t have to go down the IVF path thank goodness but my partner and I tried and tried and it is so debilitating and exhausting when each and every month is met with sheer sadness.
I wish you and your gorgeous husband all the love and success in the world. I really do.
Xx Amy from Sydney AU xx
Thank you so much for taking the time to write Amy. I wish there was a happier outcome for you to read. No matter how you try to have a baby/adopt a baby, the process is so very trying. As my mother used to say, “you can only get pregnant easily if you are 16 and in the back seat of a car, otherwise it’s really hard!” Wishing you all the very best.
Hi there,
I also have just read the article that was published on Mamamia. First of all I’d like to say you’re incredible for sharing this with everyone. Your story brought me to tears many times and I am hoping so badly that you and your husband have the little baby you long for.
Sending you lots of love and good baby wishes! Xoxo
Thank you so very much Mel!!! That means so much. Sending you lots of love and good wishes all the way from Canada!
I found your blog through Mamamia and cried reading this post. You have such a beautiful way with words and just reading about your fertility struggles makes my heart hurt. I truly wish you all the best and hope you and your husband are blessed with a baby soon xx
Thank you so much for your kindness Sarah and for taking the time to visit my blog!
Wendy,
I really love your writing. The idea of two question marks lying beside one another truly touched me. I have been there too.