Thank you to everyone who has commented on my last couple of posts. The support of this community means the world to me.
One of the comments exhorted me not to give up.
But that’s exactly what this is about.
I believe there could be a different outcome if we just kept trying and trying and trying and trying. Eventually, at some point, there would be another good embryo and a cycle that worked.
If we had unlimited financial resources and bottomless emotional reserves and endless time and an unceasing willingness to put our lives on hold, we could probably get there.
But we don’t.
One of the most insidious things about infertility treatments is there is nothing to tell you to stop.
If you succeed in building the family you want, whether that’s one child, or two, or more, then it’s easy. You write thank you letters to your doctor and the rest of staff at the clinic and skip away into the sunset.
But when you don’t end up where you wanted to be, the finishing line is much murkier.
I have a follow up appointment booked with my doctor for early December. I would love for him to tell me that we are making the right decision. I would love for him to look at my history and agree with me that thirteen embryos transferred resulting in one live birth and one miscarriage and a 70% attrition rate for the embryos during IVF cycles and a total failure to get pregnant during FETs suggests that maybe there is something else going on that we don’t know about and can’t (yet) test for. I would love for him to acknowledge that we got lucky, really really lucky, with the cycle that produced E., but that maybe he was a fluke and we should count our blessings and walk away.
I don’t think he’s going to do that. I think he’s going to tell me it’s all been a run of bad luck. I think he will be highly optimistic (because this man is ALWAYS highly optimistic) about our chances of success if we try again.
He’s not going to help us to walk away.
The onus is on us.
And here is the problem.
This is the first time in my life where working really really hard and doing everything right has not led to success.
I have not learned how to fail.
I have not learned how to give up.
I have not learned how to accept defeat.
Right now all I want to do is figure out a way to rationalize trying again. And I can’t yet tell whether this is an indication of just how deep-rooted my desire for a second child is, or if it is a defense mechanism (because as long as I am planning another cycle that means I don’t have to actually deal with the grief), or if it is my stubborn perfectionist nature refusing point blank to accept that something I’ve done in my life might not turn out well.
I’m sure at some point in my life I would have had to learn this lesson.
I just wish it hadn’t been this.