From my most recent conversation with FS:

---
"...so just call me when you want to do another cycle. Although you'll probably go off to Singapore and call me saying you got pregnant all by yourself and don't need another cycle!"

"Really?"

"No. I'll see you next year." O...kay. "Til then, have a good Christmas and just forget about it."

Right.
---

Today is cycle day one. Or "CD1" as we in the biz like to call it. And guess what I didn't have during this luteal phase? Anyone? (Clue - look at the labels down the bottom. Hint - I did have the lap/hyst/dye, and I'm still on break).

Also - I appeared to ovulate around CD13. I have done that exactly once before, that I know of. I'm a 16-19 day gal. This year, it's been anything in the twenties, and only then with help from our friends the injectables, except for that last cycle where I started injecting on day 8 (or was it 9?) and ended up ovulating on day 17. So - unaided, day 13. I wasn't expecting that.

Now I know what you're thinking. Did I really ovulate that early, or did I have a strange and stunted luteal phase? And I'd be thinking the same thing, except... on CD12 of the cycle in question I suddenly thought, "Fuck! I think I'm ovulating!" and I marked the day down on my little fertility friend chart, and predicted that today... that's right, today... would be CD1. Which it is. So.

Now, I did have a little spotting on the day after the lap/hyst/dye, so it hasn't been completely spot-free, but I'm ignoring that because hell, if you can't spot for 24 hours after a lap/hyst/dye when can you spot?

So.

So...

Several theories come to mind.

1. It's a coincidence. See what happens next cycle and this time, buy a bloody OPK to give yourself some credibility.

2. The physical handling of your uterus during transfer is causing the spotting. Well, it was pretty firmly handled during the lap, so why didn't I spot like crazy because of that? The dye cleaned things out? Maybe? And what about that first cycle - you only got a little spotting and that was at about the time your period was due? Lots of holes in this argument, I'm afraid. At any rate - no transfer, no pregnancy so even if this is the reason, there's no solution.

3. The luteal phase hormones he's given you are causing the spotting. But the spotting wasn't worse with higher doses of hormones. And those hormones are supposed to prevent spotting, so this would be a really perverse thing for your body to do. If this is the case, over the next few (rest) cycles you should get a normal luteal phase length with no spotting. Easily tested. And then I guess we can discuss completely natural cycles, and see what happens.

4. That durrned embryo is causing the spotting. The amount of spotting seems to have been more or less inversely proportional to your hCG reading on beta day. You spotted the most with the BFN, and the least with the first cycle, which produced the highest beta. Although, to be honest, there were less spotting days with the BFN than with the next cycle, even though the spotting was heavier, and... I just think you're being dodgy, that's all. At any rate, what are you going to do about it? Monitor, OPK, record, gather more data, try to achieve some statistical significance.

5. The mental stress of cycling was causing the spotting. Relax and it will happen! (Hahaha - gotcha.) Alternatively - it's the power of springtime! Lucky I'm moving somewhere equatorial then, isn't it?

In any case, what I have to do seems pretty clear. OPK, record, monitor. See what happens. Mull. Draw shaky conclusions.

And he told me to forget about it!

The woman at the cafe looked sideways at the pram trundling past, and I saw the flash in her eyes. Envy? Grief? It was similar to looks I'd seen on her before, handing in her form at the counter, waiting for her blood test. I remembered her sullen mumble of thanks - belated, like a nicety almost forgot, when the receptionist whispered her good luck on what must have been another beta day. Other times she'd just sat, distant, not bothering to suppress a sigh.

I wanted to say, "I know," and thereby take from her a little of the melancholy she so clearly overflows with. So I met her eyes, but she dropped them quickly away.

And in a second I'd moved on, unrecognised.


---
The embryologist was talking in a low voice to a couple in the hallway as I headed for the changing room. I heard him ask, "Have you had decent eggs in the past?"

"No, we've always had terrible eggs," the woman replied, and she seemed so composed.

"Ah," he responded, awkwardly, and, "Well."

And he glanced at me as I went by, and stalled a little til I passed out of earshot before continuing. "Well," he resumed, "the thing is..."

And I shut my change room door.


---
I started noticing her in May. Tall and slender, she was always seen in tailored trousers, a stylish button-up shirt with collar, and a neat jacket or knit jumper. Low, black leather heels, and a loose clasp around her long, reddish-brown hair. Poised and graceful. Confident and controlled. The expression on her delicate features meandering between polite, pleasant and blank.

When she hands in her forms, she always smiles. If she walks through the door ahead of you, she holds it. If you let her into the lift first, she bows her head modestly and treats you to a polite expression of gratitude. She is always alone, independent.

That day, I saw her once again, lining up for another embryo transfer. Not yet, then, I thought. Not for you, either.

As I went past into the theatre, she smiled politely at me.



---
"The girl next to you in recovery was so young," my mother said, as we left the hospital.

I knew the one. She'd been there with her mother, too.
"They were freezing her eggs," I replied. "They got forty-nine, and forty-five were mature. They froze all the mature ones."

"So that's different from what you had?"

"They froze our embryos. The success rate is much higher."

"So why freeze eggs?"

"Because you have no sperm to make embryos out of, usually."

"But why would you be doing IVF at such a young age if you had no sperm? Oh. You don't think...?"

I shrugged. "I don't know her story." There was a pause.

"You don't think she'll get OHSS like you had, do you?"

"I don't know." Probably.

"She seemed in so much pain, Bea." I nodded.

I remember her telling the nurse, through tears. I remember her limping to seated recovery, heat pack held against her swollen abdomen. I remember her baby face - barely twenty. And her mum, stroking her brow, helping her home.

We held the lift for her.

1. You know that extra boost of confidence and certain "feelgood" factor you get from wearing your fancy pants? You know - the expensive lacy ones with the matching bra? Well, feel free to go for that on lap day, but make sure you take along some wet wipes and a substantial pad for afterwards, especially if they're cream or white in colour.

2. If your mum says it's no trouble to remove all the craft supplies from on top of your old bed, or if your sister offers you hers because she's staying at the boy's house tonight - even though she didn't clarify whether or not this offer extended to the dog - don't decide to doss down on a mattress on the floor somewhere. Trust me. You'll find out when you have to stand all that way up in the morning.

3. The following are, to a greater or lesser degree, acceptable recovery viewing: How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days, Hitch, Lucky Break, Chain Of Fools, Tin Men, Ocean's Twelve, Human Nature, The Big Lebowski.

4. If you get a feeling, on leaving your your parents' house to return home, of having left something important behind - check your toothbrush. Toothbrush, my dear.

5. If they find nothing wrong, that's good. It's just good.

6. Having laparoscopies doesn't make your tax return or removalists' insurance evaluation paperwork go away.

No endometriosis. No endometriomas. No suggestions of cancerous or pre-cancerous tissue. No hyperplasia. No fibroids, no infection, no tubal blockages. No funny looking fluid. No adhesions or septae. No weird and unusual congenital abnormalities. No polyps. No curette, in the end, because he decided he could only make things worse from here.

("Told you so," he said. I was hoping he'd say that.)

There's no cysts, no polycystic ovarian syndrome. No systemic disease of any kind - not with my thyroid, my liver, my kidneys, my adrenals, or my glucose metabolism. No hormonal inbalances. No clotting disorders. No immunological problems, or at least not any he believes worth testing for. No visible problems with our eggs, or the embryos that make it to transfer, and nothing wrong with our sperm that can't be solved using ICSI.

I have no pain (only a little discomfort, but ask me again tomorrow). No explanation for the mysterious spotting or the chemical pregnancies.

Oh, and no baby.


---
An aside on my mother, the dear: she teared up (but fought back bravely) in front of the admissions nurse because she couldn't shake her deep and abiding fear that the comic films I'd borrowed on DVD for my recovery would cause me to laugh too hard and break my wounds open. She chooses the most bizarre things to worry about (shut up, I am not).

Hearing her worry like this has a profoundly calming effect. I toyed with the idea of taking her to all my procedures from now on for this reason, but I really don't think she could stand the stress.

So tonight I had a chat to my mother about Friday. She's staying with me at the hospital and taking care of me overnight, so I had to get her up to speed. We talked for a while. I was calm, and I was brave. She was worried - I could see. Then she said, "It's just... no don't worry."

"What's that?"

"Well it's just... it makes me so angry. You hear these stories about these people who have babies and they don't look after them properly, don't even have the sense to care for them half the time, and the children are abused and mistreated, and then there's you two and... it just makes me mad, that's all."

And I saw myself shrug, and I felt myself smile, and I heard myself say something about not getting angry every time you realise life is unfair. And I talked for a bit about the people who live in countries where IVF isn't funded; the people who barely have money for food and shelter let alone fertility treatments; those for whom ART holds no hope or prospect; my first ever TTC buddy - a teacher from a small regional centre in one-child China with a pittance salary and no access to IVF - therefore no hope for a child - whose school nevertheless makes her take a pregnancy test every six months as a condition of her employment, and what sort of fair is that?

And much as I believe there's a time for anger, there's also a time to put anger aside. And there's a time to end the useless flailing, and take a more considered approach. There's a time to lament the past and the present, and a time to focus on and make choices for the future. A time to laugh, a time to weep. A time for every purpose under heaven.

She used to sing me that, you know, as she tucked me into bed. I guess I get my chance to whisper the lullabies after all.

So I got my new referral this morning from the GP. And a script for some pain killers. And she asked if that was all, and I said yes, and I thought we were done. Then she asked how I was going. Fine, I'm fine. Are you still taking folic acid*? Well... I've kind of stopped for the time being. I'm on a break. How many cycles have you done? Are you feeling disappointed about the results? Does your family know what you're going through? Do you have access to counsellors at your clinic?

Sooner or later I was bound to cry. And its hard to convince someone you're really ok when you're blowing your nose at the same time. In the end, reluctantly, she let me leave. Maybe she decided I wasn't going to abuse her prescription medications after all.

Later, I walked aimlessly through the supermarket. Despite a bare pantry, I couldn't figure out what to buy. I realised how long it's been since I tasted food. I looked at ingredients - eggs, vegetables, spice - and I tried to remember how to cook. My herb garden feeds possums now. The tomato plants yellow and die. I am thin, I am gaunt**.

When I came home, I scrolled through my archives. Looking for change. Hoping for progress. Trying to work out if they're right, these people who look at me, with their furrowed brows, their faces of concern, and reduce me to crying so easily. And I found a good reason to blog. I know now, for sure, that these are not my darkest hours***.

I am waking from a very bad night, full of terrors. And although my fears were valid, and remain unresolved, they are more manageable by this, the light of day. The worst may not be over, but at least, as I wake, I can smell the coffee, and breathe the warmth of toasted bread. And I am grateful for these little tastes of life.



---
*Interestingly, she recommends a pregnancy and breastfeeding formula containing iodine, for those living in Australia. This is because our soils are iodine-poor. The same prenatals that are adequate in, say, Europe, are not so good here, for this reason. Check your label!

**Don't hate me for this. I have lost a significant amount of weight this year. Stress kills my appetite. It may be part of our problem at the moment.

***This post from April is what I mean.