I had been tossing up whether to blog about this.... I've been talking about the IVF etc so much in this forum it would seem remiss.
Anyway, about 5 days after my embryo transfer, I started getting cramps, like an impending period. "Oh don't worry," my internet friends would say, "it could be implantation cramps".
"Yeah, right" I thought.
I found that 10 day wait really hard. Mainly because I thought I was just having to wait till I was disappointed again, and I just wanted to be put out of my misery.
On day 7, feeling really cagey, I thought "oh what the hell, I'll just pee on a stick (POAS)".
For the first time in 2.5 years, there were 2 lines.
It took a few days for that to sink in. Finally, on day 10, I went to go and get the official blood test, at sparrow fart in the morning. I worked the morning session and tried to chillax in the afternoon, having swapped my sessions.
The IVF doc rang. My HCG was in the comfortably 4 week pregnant range, as was my progesterone. My BFP - IVF forum lingo for Big Fat Positive.
I asked her a question and she told me to stop googling. I argued with "but I google scholar....". She said to go and get an ice-cream. It was a hot day. I did what the doc said.
Since then, my mind has been a bit all over the shop. I am one minute dressing my hypothetical baby in a cute onesie. Other times I am worried to the point of tears that the pregnancy will go down the route it went last time. I am trying to live in, if not the moment, then what I have to do in the day in question, and not think too far ahead, at this stage.
I have resisted the urge to look at the stats. I know that with my age my chances of all not proceeding are higher than average, but it does not do to dwell on that. Waste of time and energy, for starters. Hence I have done a good job of distracting myself, plotting world domination, et cetera.
It seems a long time to go till the viability scan. Just under two weeks, seems ages away. I am taking it One Day At A Time (ODAAT). The time will pass, it is up to me as to how anxiety filled it is. What will be, will be. The future is not really ours to see.
At a work meeting, my male colleague, whose wife is pregnant, got a hearty slap on the back from the male seniors/head honchos. I wonder whether the congratulations to me (if forthcoming) will be different. Along with the slight fatigue, the munchies and sore boobs, my angry feminist side seems to have popped up.