I didn’t know that my heart could shatter into thousand pieces in a mere few seconds.

I had been calm ever since we knew that we might have a chance of growing a blastocyst.  It could have been my defense mechanism to protect myself from thinking and feeling that this might be our chance for our take home baby.  Bob had been a lot more nervous. In fact last night he talked in his sleep and had a conversation with me that went like this:

Bob: Get me that device.
Me: What device?
Bob: The electronic device that you can do experiments on.
Me: Huh? What experiments?
Bob: To check to see if the embryos are doing well.
Me: Where do you find it?
Bob: Huh have to develop it.

Of course he had no recollection of this conversation with me last night when he was asleep.  But it showed you that he was worried about the embryos.

I was still hopeful this morning.  I treated the sign of no phone call as a good sign.  I got ready, took all of the oral medications that I needed to prepare for the transfer, stuck my last Endometrin insert in myself, and downed two glasses of water in order to get a full bladder.

At 8:25am, Bob’s phone rang.  The call sealed our fate for this cycle.

Epic failure.  At least that was how I felt.

I sort of could tell from Dr. E’s voice.  It wasn’t like the cheerful her that delivered great news 24 hours ago.  It was a cautious and serious tone.  I didn’t like it.

The morula was still a morula this morning.  It didn’t grow into something fantastic and awesome that would buy us a dream and a chance of becoming parents.  It was slow.  It was stuck at the same stage.

Deja Vu.  We found ourselves in the same eery situation that happened two days ago.  Two hours before transfer, we had to quickly make a decision whether or not to transfer this embryo that refused to grow further.

Dr. E said that the fact that the morula was already a morula yesterday and hadn’t grown today gave us clue that most likely it wouldn’t survive in my uterus had we transferred it.  What we could do is to let it be in the petri dish and see if it would miraculously grow into a blastocyst tomorrow on day six.  If it does, then we’ll freeze it for a future transfer.  If not, then we know that it wouldn’t have survived in my uterus and it would spare me the heartaches of the two week wait and getting a BFN.

Bob asked to hang up the phone for the two of us to discuss the matter before making a decision.

I had not cried like this in a long time.  A heart wrenching cry that almost felt like someone took my heart out of me.  I felt like a part of me was gone.  I felt like I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I felt naive to think that we would have at least one embryo to transfer if not more.  When we started this cycle, I never thought that I would be in this position with nothing to show for.  I felt like a complete, utter failure.

I cognitively know I am not a failure.  But I couldn’t help myself in that moment.  My own bad eggs caused this to happen.  I could not produce any good eggs.

Bob held me as tight as he could, stroked my hair while I cried like there was no tomorrow.  After a while, I took a deep breath and felt resolved.  There is nothing we can do if this cycle is a bust.  We just have to pick up the pieces and move on from here.  Bob called Dr. E and told her our decision.  She praised us for the decision saying that it was mature and educated.  She would give us a report at about the same time tomorrow about the development of the embryos.

We were deflated.  We looked at each other as we were so naive to be hopeful.  Our dreams were shattered.

Bob called his manager to report what had happened and asked to remain at home with me for the rest of the day.  I sat on my bed with tears streaming down my face.

I could use all the comfort I could get today.  A friend on my Facebook Secret group was asking for an update.  I gave them an update of the news with a heavy, broken heart.  My dear friend M wrote two things that are so beautiful that they bring special comfort to my heart:

“Roller coaster indeed. But you’re not a failure. Sometimes the flower just needs a little extra blooming time. ‘The flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful flower of them all.’ Hang in there”

“When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long/And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong/Just remember in the winter/Far beneath the winter snows/Lies the seed that, with the sun’s love/In the spring, becomes the rose.”

Thank you M.  I love how you knew how to comfort me in times of despair.

I wasn’t so naive to think that this cycle would work.  But I never thought that I would have nothing to transfer.  I never thought that our cycle would end before we could even dream for two weeks about the possibility.  This is called first time IVF naivete.

My dear husband has been my rock and my comfort.  He himself has been so affected by this emotionally.  He does not cry so it is even harder for him because he has no way to release his angst, disappointment, and sense of desperation.  But he is here for me.  His presence, resolve, and strength make this journey bearable.  He is so funny that I laughed many times today because he is determined to cheer me up.  And it works.

The Lord has been good to me.  After my initial heart break, I began to feel okay in an hour after the news.  We went out for a cup of my favorite coffee as my consolation since I had stopped drinking coffee in preparation for the transfer.  We had lunch, enjoyed the sunshine, walked around town, and drove to a coastal town.  I did a little retail therapy and bought a silicone basting brush that I had always wanted.  I stared at the ocean when we were driving back home.  The water was so tranquil.  I know that everything is going to be fine.  My final treat for today was McD french fries that brought comfort to my tummy.

My maid-of-honor, one of my best friends who loves me dearly, said yesterday in our phone call that she originally wanted to suggest taking me to a birthday dinner instead of a birthday lunch this coming Saturday so that we could dine and wine.  But since we got good news yesterday, I would’ve done a transfer already and wine wouldn’t be the best thing for a celebration.

I texted her and asked if I could still take up on her offer for dinner and wine.  She quickly texted back with choices of restaurant.  I chose a little French bistro.  It feels great to be loved by so many.

I went back to read Aramis’ post yesterday.  Aramis, you don’t know how much your post has helped me today.  Sorry to bring you another bad news.  I am wounded.  But I am a fighter.  This is just the first round.  I will definitely get my ass back into the fight.  Thank you for your encouragement.

As for the rest of the day, we are both doing fine.  I put away all the IVF and meds schedules on the fridge.  The medicine bottles are all in the kitchen cabinets.  Endometrin boxes are closed.  Pantyliners were put back in the linen closet.

I emailed Dr. E to see if I should resume the supplements that I was taking before this cycle.  She wrote back immediately, “Yes please!!!  We have a winner egg to retrieve.”

I really love my RE.

I love my Lord and He loves me.  It is Him who is healing my heart.  I hope that I come out of this strong and we as a couple also become stronger.

As a final note, it pains me that my husband does not even get to share this most heart-wrenching news with his parents while chatting on Skype with them.  They know nothing about what has been going on.  I hope and pray that one day we and his parents could be on the same page.


13 thoughts on “Nothing

  1. Oh sweetheart!!!! I’ve been tracking you so closely as our timings were so similar. I didn’t make it to transfer either. In fact, our one egg didn’t even fertilise. It’s heartbreaking. Damn damn damn I’m so sad about your news but so pleased you have great support from your husband. I hope our seed is growing under that snow. Xxx


  2. Oh honey, don’t you dare apologize for bad news! I am so sorry this is how things worked out this cycle, but your RE will learn a lot from it for next time. You’re down but you’re not out. Hugs to you and Bob.


  3. ((Hugs)) My heart just breaks for you guys. Im glad that your husband has been able to cheer you up and that your friends have given you lovely words to help you threw this time. Ill say a prayer for your and DHs comfort and peace.


  4. I am so sorry. There are no words. There have been so many of these crushing conversations in my 3.5 years of TTC. Hang on to Christ and your husband. Big hugs!


  5. Pingback: Being (overly) sensitive? | In Quest of a Binky Moongee

  6. I’m sorry about your situation and what has happened. Like you, I did not make it to transfer with my last IVF (only 2 eggs retrieved out of 8 follicles, both arrested the day before the transfer). I’ll never forget the nurse’s tone of voice on the phone before she actually told me the news. Devastating and I’m still trying to get over it.

    Good luck to you for whatever you choose to do next. You seem to have such strong faith in everything working out for the best.


    • It’s totally devastating. It brings infertility to a new level when there are no embryos left for transfer. Thanks for commenting and stopping by. I am sorry that you had to go through what I went through. I hope that in the coming year you’ll have a much better cycle with the best outcome possible. I am onto my IVF #4 (the post was written after IVF #1). How time flies. Have to hold onto the hope that it WILL happen to us. Best of luck.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s