Along the lines of IVF

A second line on the ubiquitous pee on a stick (POAS) home pregnancy test soon takes on mythical proportions in the mind of the long term IVFer.

Yet there we were late on a Saturday night looking at a sight that seemed as unlikely as seeing a dodo sitting on a pot of gold, situated at the rainbow’s end on the far side of Brigadoon.Our 11 day wait had started out joyously peaceful and had segued into the most unpleasant events of our IVF history.

But still, there we were with a second line. The first one we’d ever seen. We were not real sure that we were seeing what we hoped we were seeing.

Flicking the computer back into life soon after midnight we trawled Google pictures, blogs, forums and POAS company sites for reassurance. “Our line is thicker than that……” we murmured “that one was taken after ours.”

We were surely descending into POAS madness we’d heard all about. For a change we looked like we might be setting off on a happy IVF ride.

My first shocked thought was that a line – any line – was good. The usually positive Wobbles in the face of our most positive IVF outcome yet seemed doubtful. Nervous excitement was consuming us all too quickly. A positive result would be wonderful, but an imaginary one would be crushing.

Somewhere in the early hours of Sunday morning I went to sleep for the first time ever with the real hope that I might actually be pregnant.

We had decided on a repeat test in the morning that would actually be fuelled with First Morning Urine (FMU) as opposed to Late Night Piddle (LNP). To our considerable delight the test swiftly showed a strong second line. Our excitement went up another thousand notches.

The Saturday night POAS had been unplanned and the official clinic blood test was due days later on Wednesday. The only testing strategy we had developed was that we would not leave our bumbling clinic to hand us anymore news – good or bad.

There had been a big day out on Saturday. Wobbles’ idea of distraction is to go somewhere usually faraway – the reason I seem to remember certain locations for the level of ovary stretching, nausea or Synarel headache I was experiencing at the time. But it had been a good – albeit exhausting – day out filled with lots of book browsing and buying yet once at home restlessness set in.

I was tired and completely hormonal. The many support medicines seemed that they might consume me at any moment. Not a part of my body wasn’t bloated or swollen it seemed, and it all felt horribly artificial.

We had worked hard to establish a calm household for what was to be only our second embryo transfer in all these years. Although we’d refused to give up hope two years earlier during that previous transfer we should have; just two days in I had come down with the nastiest virus I’d known in a long time; vomiting, temperature and worse. I suspect that embie didn’t stand a fevered chance. This time I was determined to stay well – a plan that was quickly put under threat when Wobbles came down with what was the second bout of illness in all of the years I have known him. That slight cough descended into something worse. My pleas for him to see a doctor initially fell on wobbly deaf ears. Despite his time of living with this Lifeslurper of poor immunity, my long line of past illnesses seemed to vanish from his memory. Midweek he was finally nagged into that doctor visit. Somewhere I had told him that his refusal to seek help was putting our baby project at serious risk. A prescription for anti-biotics and leaving work well before his standard office home time of 7pm and he was feeling much better. One afternoon we actually curled up together in bed for a nap. Eventually the kitties would join us, and early evening when we awoke Wobbles and I both felt a little more human again.

But the storm surrounding our 11 day wait was still brewing. The storm would hit Thursday and Friday with a force. IVF life would never be the same.

Two events, neither which I can describe in any detail are central to the story. One involves the clinic; the second is all about online life. The issue with the clinic is likely to be the subject of legal action on behalf of Wobbles and myself. The other while extremely unnecessary and poorly timed is not worth mentioning for that might give that person and their behaviour greater importance than they deserve. Both events had direct part in bringing on the premature POAS. If this cycle was to be affected by such disastrous events, then I wanted to be put out of our misery NOW! Not days later when the clinic told us it was over.

So there we were looking at our second seemingly positive POAS. Sunday was a delightful blur of mad hope and soaring dreams. Wobbles’ spirit seemed almost luminous. His dream just might be coming true at last.

Ever the case with the IVFer of low hope, our thoughts careered wildly between “What if it is —?” and “What if it’s not —?” The expectations while delicious they began to take on quite a dangerous feel. We’d never been here before. We’d never planned for what we’d do if we got here. Now we had no clue as what to do.

Help was at hand. Suggestion was that we duck out and see a general practitioner Monday and get an early test done. [Thanks Journey Girl!]

Bolstered by another EMU positive POAS, Monday morning saw me off for an appointment with Dr Softly Spoken. There I had to do another POAS and this one was “faint”. I hung around the IVF world for long enough to know that things such as low positive results and chemical pregnancies existed. I felt myself collapsing under the weight of my own burgeoning expectations of less than 36 hours. I was sent on my way for the pathology test in the same building where the nurse on checking my date of birth and the test type stated an incredulous; “You’re NOT expecting are you??” Argh! I felt disapproval of a pregnancy not yet confirmed.

The GP results would not be available until Tuesday. We had to sit tight for another night.

Tuesday afternoon Wobbles met me at the doctor’s. After a short wait we were called in. There was a nervous delay while Dr Softly Spoken went off in search for our results. Was there a problem? Like so many IVFers, we have come to expect the worst. My surname had been misspelt leading me to later wonder if I’d been given the correct results.

Wobbles held my hand as Dr Softly Spoken said; “It’s not very positive!”

Wobbles hand was shaking. I was becoming distracted by his tremors.

“It IS very positive!” Dr Softly Spoken repeated.

We were pregnant.

The hcg reading was 132 on 9dp5dt.

I couldn’t think straight. I thought Wobbles might be on the verge of collapse. The shaking was so strong, his response to the news surprisingly underwhelming. I was looking from side to side; Dr Wobbles to my left, Dr Softly Spoken to my right.

This was good news, wasn’t it? Was the reading high enough I wondered? How could we be doing this for so long and still know so little?

I realised Dr Softly Spoken was asking about alcohol; “do you drink?” I assumed he was directing this question to the visibly shaking Wobbles. Perhaps he was concerned Wobbles had the delirium tremens? He followed that up with something about smoking, bought salads, and soft cheeses. He was talking to ME, giving us the rundown for various precautions in pregnancy.

Oh my! I was pregnant! Me? As ridiculous as it may sound, I never thought this would happen.

Out at reception I was signing claim forms when Wobbles gave me a kiss on the cheek and was out the door on his way back to work before I could finish writing my short name.

I drove out and pulled up around the corner. I needed a moment. I was shocked but still feeling doubtful.

I felt hope and disbelief. I decided to wait for the official clinic test.

There was just over 24 hours left to wait.