Hell begins from here

Had a mad dash last night between work and home,
then from home to my mate V’s,
then from V’s to my cooking class at 7pm.

And in between all of this, I received a phone call (after hours) from the clinic.

I was told that the consultant who gave me my FET date earlier made a mistake. She didn’t realise I was doing a Day 5 Blastocyst transfer. So now the FET is officially next Monday because they have to match the endometrial lining thickness and maturity to the age of the embryo.

I have mixed feelings about this revised date:

1) It sucks because I was hoping to get it over and done with earlier – so the pessimist in me will barrack for the `the sooner it’s happened, the sooner it is over and done with, and the sooner I will know it doesn’t work (again). So once again I can get on with my life as the walking contraceptive who respond and nod accordingly to probing questions from nosey buggers who ask why am I not pregnant yet.

2) However I am glad it has been delayed because it means I can have the weekend to myself doing normal things – like carrying my own groceries, stuffing around with the dog, visit the nursery (not the maternal type) and buy some plants, cook up a storm in the kitchen…etc.

I find it best to switch off my feelings these days when thinking about the embryos. Once upon a time when I was naïve and believe in the goodness in life – I used to give names to all our little cells. Some names are cutesy names me and Babe made up (Babe is my dear husband), or even proper names for our potential children. Then we started to loose them all so now we don’t talk about it too much. It is too heart wrenching. I think if I relate the cells as `life beings’ I will go mental eventually – I need to keep it together so I can keep fighting.