February 16, 2023

After a handful of cancelled embryo transfers, tweaks in protocols, tests, and delays, we were finally on track. February 16, 2023 would be our transfer date, for real this time. We felt that the date was a sign, as it was my grandma’s birthday, and the next day was my father-in-law’s birthday. Two people that meant so much to me and my husband. To top it off, things were moving along in the right direction. My lining was where it needed to be and the new meds were doing what we hoped they would. We finally made it and when we arrived at the clinic on February 16, we felt hopeful.

I think I’m a pretty humble person, in general. But, as I found myself with my legs practically level with my forehead, spread eagle, in a room full of strangers, I found myself not caring. My vagina, on display for five female doctors and nurses, was confident. It was just there, hanging out, and I barely cared. The only person in the room, that I had met before, was the ultrasound tech, everyone else was a stranger, and there I was, vagina on display. Good morning! Have you met my vagina?

Every person in the room, including my husband and I, were in good spirits. We cracked some jokes, the doctors explained that the embryo had survived thawing, and everything looked good. We had finally arrived. A few moments later, the doctor transferred the embryo, I was instructed to take it easy for the day, everyone left the room, and my husband and I looked at each other. Thirty minutes was all it took. The transfer had actually happened. Our one embryo. Our one basket. We had arrived at the place we had been hoping to get to for years.

After the appointment, and a post-transfer acupuncture session, we headed home, and I rested. Laying down, I tried to visualize our embryo, finding the best spot to implant, and snuggling in. It would be another eight days until we knew if it worked, but I kept imagining our positive pregnancy test.

The following week was tough. I couldn’t sleep, I had to cut back on caffeine, I tried to not stress or think about things, and I had way too much time to think. We went for walks, we ran errands, worked, talked with friends and family, and tried to be as normal as we could. It was difficult, and the week dragged on.

Friday, February 24 at 6:30 a.m. was our blood test appointment to see if the transfer worked. Each day crept on, and I started to spot a little. I knew it was nothing to worry about, as it could be related to implantation or just a fluke, but on Thursday afternoon, there was no denying it. My period had started. I cancelled my pregnancy test and waited for my husband to get home from work.

My husband and I have shared so much, and news tends to happen in our kitchen, for whatever reason. As I told him that my period started, he grabbed me and held me. We cried. We got mad. We cuddled on the couch. We both woke up with puffy eyes and the task to tell our friends and family the news.

Today, I am sitting in our bedroom writing and my husband is in the other room meditating. This is really like any other Saturday, but today, it all feels different. For over five years, our lives and schedules have been dictated by fertility. From appointments, prescriptions, injections, supplements, vitamins, acupuncture appointments, food choices, travel plans, future decision making, it all depended on what the next fertility plan was.

And now? Nothing.

We have no idea what to do next.