Starting from scratch

I'm back in the fertility specialist's waiting room. It's been two years since my first appointment here and despite how hard it has been, I'm much more at ease with my fertility issues.

Two years ago I wrote my Melbourne Cup blog where I had a mini break down in the specialist's office. Today the receptionist that drove me to tears that day is now on a first name basis and we casually chat about nothings. The baby photo wall, once known to send me into a spin of distress, is now not even background noise. I still hate baby photo walls but at least I don't want to stick pins through the baby eyes anymore.

I'm waiting to find out if there is anything I can do in advance of our next full round of IVF. If we can find out what might be the cause/s of our miscarriages. I know they might not be able to find anything. If they do it might not be treatable. Want to start the next round with as much hope and information as possible - and hopefully have the success we desire.

Hideous baby photo wall

Scanning

Well, I've been on holidays at the beach for the past 12 days. We holiday in a small beach side town each year. It is an incredibly beautiful part of the world. I had decided to take the risk and book in our first viability scan for the day we were leaving for holidays. I thought this showed great faith in that the pregnancy would be okay. If it wasn't okay, I planned to head to the beach anyway and drink myself into oblivion.

The scan was with our fertility specialist - the first viability scan. I've actually never managed to have a viability scan with him due to bad holiday timing over the past year. As it turned out, this time he was going on holidays for the same days as us, so we managed to squeeze the scan in.

I was a little disappointed with the scan. He showed us one baby, with a heart beat, right at the top of the uterus. He was pretty happy about it. He said "I'm not hearing any oohhhs and aaahhhhs". So he tried to hear the heartbeat. I tried explaining, it wasn't that we weren't pleased, it's just that we've seen a lot of tiny babies, that don't even look like babies, with heartbeats. He printed a picture for us.

I have grown to hate ultrasound images. I hate everybody's ultrasound images, not just my own. If a see a friend post their ultrasound image to facebook, I have to delete/hide the post. To me they just look freaky. So Matt took the picture. He thought his family might like to see it, I said "really, why would they want to see that?"

Due to my specialist usually being on holidays, our first scans have generally been with ultrasound clinics. These scans give you sooooooo much information. You get the crown to rump length, the heartbeat rate, the size of the gestational sack, the gestational age. So when the fertility specialist showed us a blob with a heartbeat and said it looked about the right size, I was underwhelmed.

As we were both about to head off on holidays the fertility specialist gave us a referal to get a diagnostic scan done, just in case anything went a miss during the week of holidays.

We packed the ultrasound referal in our gear and headed off on holidays hoping we wouldn't need it, but that wasn't to be the case. The very next day I had a pretty heavy bleed, dark red with little clots in it. I lost it. I was crying and crying. I just hate it. One day everything is 'fine' the next day, it seems like we are about to have another miscarriage.

The worst part is, there is nothing to do about it. You just have to go to sleep, get up the next day and somehow try to enjoy your holiday at the beach. The bleed was on a Saturday so we couldn't even go for the scan until Monday at the earliest.

So we soldier on. Force yourself to get outside and enjoy the beautiful place you are in. Try not to think about it all the time. Try not to let your bad mood spoil it for everyone else who is there.

On Monday we get the diagnostic scan. The baby is still there, but we are told it is only measuring 5 weeks and 6 days and the heartbeat is 96 beats per minute. Basically, the baby is more than a week smaller than it should be. The sonographer also told us that the heartbeat would preferably be over than 100. In closing, he said the pregnancy was viable at this time, but given the result no doubt another ultrasound will be needed in another week or two.

So the baby is small, with a slow heartbeat. The same sonographer gave us similar news last year with our heterotopic pregnancy, and that baby miscarried soon after. We don't leave with smiles on our faces. My husband says on the way to the car "We know how this played out last time, but I guess we just need to give the little trooper a chance."

We had a little more spotting over the next day, but for a week now I've had nothing. I've had not bleeding. I've also had no morning sickness or other symptoms that wouldn't be caused by the progesterone pessaries I have to use morning and night.

Our first appointment with the ob/gyn I chose for this pregnancy is coming up, so I haven't bothered following up with our fertility specialist about getting another scan. I have some hope - hey, maybe it will be fine - I really hope that it is. I also have some doubts.

All positives

My HCG blood test was positive, with my HCG coming in at 183. My second HCG blood test came back at 382. This is all positive. They are looking for the HCG to double at this early stage, and mine did that.

There is nothing extraordinary about these numbers, that is, they didn't say 'wow that's big, maybe it will be twins'.

Two week wait is officially over, however once you know you are pregnant it is just more weeks of waiting. I am again waiting for the first ultrasound. The ultrasound will confirm if obiwan and obitwo are both still hanging on. Waiting to find out if the pregnancy is viable at this time. Then, if the first ultrasound is good news, it is just more waiting, to find out if the pregnancy will last the next week, 2 weeks and so on.

Thankfully after our last pregnancy loss we sat down with our fertility specialist to discuss what was going on (here's my blog on that). He told us that despite having lost 5 babies in early pregnancy, that we really were just unlucky, versus there being something specific causing the problem. Four of the five pregnancy losses were completely random and could happen to anyone. The fact that they all happened to us is apparently just really bad luck.

Armed with this knowledge, I've created myself a new mantra or two during this pregnancy:

• Short mantra - there is no reason this pregnancy shouldn't work
• Long mantra - millions of other people find out they are pregnant and don't worry about losing it and there is no reason this pregnancy won't be like the ones all those other people have.

I wish I didn't need the mantras, but I do. I am occasionally overwhelmed with it all and not even the mantras help. I've downloaded an anxiety information sheet and read it when I'm feeling really anxious to try and help diffuse the feelings.

There is nothing more I can do about it I guess. I just have to wait it out.

The low down and the down low

Damn you fertility treatment and your insidious infiltration of happiness and general well being!

This treatment cycle moved so quickly, I'm already on the 2-week wait roller-coaster and once again, it sucks.

Last week I went in for my first blood test on day 12 of my cycle. When I rang my fertility specialist to be told when I needed to do my next blood test I was surprised that I needed to go back the next day and go in for an ultrasound. I thought it must just suit the specialist to see me on that day for the ultrasound (which is to check that my uterus lining is looking like a nice soft cushion that little embryos would just love to snuggle into) and that he wanted the blood test result to check my hormone levels that corresponded with the ultrasound.

Once again the ultrasound is internal. To try to elevate some of the embarrassment about the whole situation my specialist starts a funny conversation about how his teenage son asked him what sort of deviate he was to decide to become a gynecologist. He assured me it wasn't because he wanted to look at girls private parts (phew).

Throughout the scan the fertility specialists say he thinks I ovulated the day before. What? Really? He needs to check the blood test result to be sure.

Once I'm re-dressed from the waist down I wander across to the doctor's consultation room. He is looking at my blood test results and confirms he thinks I've already ovulated (on day 12 of my cycle!). He confirms he is going to request my embryos are thawed that day and that transfer will be on 3 days time.

Crickey! I'm stunned by the speed of it. I usually get blood tests for a week and half, before we get to ovulation (which usually happens between day 18 and 21 of my cycle!).

I mention to the doctor I've had some spotting for the past few days. His face then looks perplexed. He explains while it can happen around ovulation, it is not ideal. He wants me to start progesterone medication immediately and to let him know if the bleed develops into a full blown period. If that happens, we will potentially have wasted the embryos that are being thawed.

Thankfully once on the progesterone the spotting disappears.

The thaw of 2 embryos for transfer results in 3 embryos being thawed, our last 3 embryos. One embryo didn't survive the thaw but the other kicked on, slowly at first, but by transfer day 1 is a blastocyst, the other still a morula. Both apparently look pretty good. I've nicked names these embryos obi wan and obi two, a tenuous link to Star Wars famous princess Leia plea - help me obi wan kenobi, you're my only hope.

I decided at the last minute to throw acupuncture in the mix again this time. I saw the acupuncturist just before transfer, that day after transfer and again 5 days post transfer.

And so, we wait. It sucks. Some days I think it has worked, other days I think it won't have worked. I really struggle at work at this time. I just don't cope well with the everyday frustrations and difficulties of the office. Everything that is crap about work is so amplified. All week I've been fighting with myself just to get to work. I get there every day and it isn't as bad as I've made it out to be in my mind.

Not long now before the home pregnancy test obsession will be let loose and we will see if obi wan and/or obi two have settled in.

New cycle in full swing

Last week I started the official part of this cycle, blood tests. I was tested on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and then finally this Monday when I got the result I was looking for, I would ovulate on Tuesday. Yay! Last week I also had an ultrasound to check my uterus lining was the right thickness, and all was good in that in department.

And with that, our frozen embryo transfer has been scheduled for Saturday!

So, yesterday our embryos were going to be thawed. We've made the decision to have two transferred if we have two survive the thaw.

I've been feeling really positive and excited about the transfer, but this time is when I start to get a little tense. Now I have to see how our embryos are going. I literally just rang the lab to get an update on my embryos. Both embryos survived the thaw fully intact, however only one has started to grow. We have a 9 cell and a 6 cell, both grade 3 embryos. This is not the result I really want. I want to ring and hear - your embryos are awesome, they are growing like wild fire, they are babies in the making. Instead, I got, we are going to ring your doctor to see if we should thaw another embryo to be sure you have two to transfer.

Oh well, there is nothing to be done for it. We can only work with what we've got, and I can only hope that by Saturday there are still embryos to work with.

A wee bit over waiting to get knocked up

We had planned to have another round of embryo transfers this month. I'd started to get pretty excited about it and happy with the anticipation and hope of maybe getting pregnant and having a baby. Having taken a break for soooooo long, it occurred to me that when I rang the fertility specialist's office to book in for the cycle that I should ask if he had holidays planned. Of course, he does, right when I would due to have the embryo transfer.

Bugger! It's definitely at times like these I miss my fallopian tubes and the old fashion way of baby-making.

There is nothing to be done for it, we just have to wait another month. The first chance we have to try again I will probably be 37. That's right, another year will tick over.

I'm trying not to get to hung up on the age thing. I'm trying having a balanced view of all the impacting factors. So the good news is I've been doing really well on the weight loss front. I have lost the 10kgs I set as my birthday target. I have another few weeks before transfer (and my birthday) I am thinking I could loose another 2-4kgs, which surely can only help.

The best part of the weight loss is that I'm generally feeling a lot fitter and healthier. Thinking back to last year I felt so exhausted and run down. This year I've had a lot more energy. I don't want to jinx it, but I haven't even had so much as a sniffle this winter!

Heading into my next transfer I'll be:

1. 1 year older
2. 10 kilos lighter (at least)
3. A tiny bit less crazy/obsessed 
4. A shit tip fitter.

In the balance of things, I feel like it will be in the favour of fertility.

Coping strategies: Prepare me for another roll of the dice

Yep, that's right, I signed up to do a mini triathlon.

Regular readers, and those that know me, will know I do not have the body of a triathlete. Far from it. So why am I doing this triathlon?

In February we had our catch up with the fertility specialist to go over the latest pregnancy loss and talk about our next steps. It was another tough appointment. Once again the specialist wanted to revisit all the pregnancies and subsequent losses.

The surprising news to us is that the specialist believes we have an excellent prognosis, with really shit luck. Basically, four out of the five of our pregnancy losses have been completely random events, that can happen to anyone. To have them happen to us, four times, is unlucky (and in the case of the heterotopic pregnancy rare and unlucky). These were the ectopic pregnancies and the 2 trisomy miscarriages. Our most recent miscarriage is the only loss that wasn't completely random or unrelated to anything specifically to do with us. They don't know what caused it, but it was definitely something to do with us - our genetics.

The specialist also explains that our cohort of embryos is the best he's seen in years. They were all such high quality and we were lucky enough to make so many in our full IVF round (a luxury I particularly appreciate knowing how hard many of my other infertile friends find it to get quality embryos).

So I'm sitting there crying wondering if I can go on with it, while I have five 4 cell, grade 4 (on a scale of 0-5 with 5 being the best) embryos on ice. Meanwhile my specialist is saying I'm almost a best case scenario and would be mad not to go on.

Well, it still doesn't feel that way. It feels like the impossible.

It hurt a little bit, but Matt asked about my weight and whether it is worth taking a break and losing more of it. It hurts because it is not like I haven't wondered myself if it really is just my weight that is stopping us from succeeding in this venture and to know that it is clearly playing on Matt's mind. It hurts because of the stupid Biggest Loser story line about single Brenda whose partner left her because they failed to have children. It hurts because we started to trying to have a child over three years ago and I know if I'd just had any ability to think long term in those three years I could have lost a lot more weight - my sister is tribute to that.

In the same amount of time I've been trying to have a baby my sister has lost an extraordinary 55kg and is still committed to getting the last 8kgs off. I on the other hand have lost 7kgs, gained 8kgs, lost 7kgs, gained 2kgs, lost 5kgs, gained 6kgs, lost 7kgs and so on... I can pick the pattern to it - leading up transfers I lose weight, following pregnancy loss I gain it. My emotions are playing a strong role, as they always have, in my weight management.

My specialist is a tubby fellow and appreciates that for those of us that carry the extra kilos how hard it is to shake. He confessed that he'd given up chocolate in 2012. He also again tells us that any weight off will help, not just in getting pregnant, but in general pregnancy health and baby health. Small numbers help, even just a couple of kilos. He is very clear that given my age it is not worth taking a long break to lose a large amount of weight as the advantage of the weight loss will be undone by the disadvantage of being too old. Ughhhh. He says I can get back into transfers after I have my next period, but to take a break if I need it, but not for too long. He also, for the first time, recommends I see one of the Queensland Fertility Group psychologists  given the difficulty I'm having deciding, but also because I am going be extremely anxious when I do get pregnant. This I am of course already incredibly aware of.

It is hard because it feels like my weight is the only factor the specialists can suggest could make a difference to our achieving a healthy pregnancy.

I need to stop thinking month to month, cycle to cycle and start thinking in longer units of time. I decide I need to start planning for things that are months off and stop just thinking about getting ready for the next transfer. I decide I should set a weight loss goal for the short term (4 kgs before a family wedding) and the longer term (10 kgs before my birthday in July).

With my new resolve I set my alarm to get up the next morning and go for a walk. When the alarm goes off I quickly switch it off, ignore it and roll over. A classic problem for me. Motivated the night before, zero motivation when I have to implement the plan.

I mention my lack of motivation to a work colleague who has gone triathlon mad and she suggests I sign up for the BRW corporate triathlon. It is a short triathlon, with only a 400 metre swim, 10km bike ride and 4km run. Despite having almost no running ability I decide I should do it.

As it turns out being signed up and committed to the triathlon is just the motivation I needed and I actually jump out of bed when the alarm goes off. I've been training for about 4 weeks and there are 4 more weeks to race day. I'm not going to win the race, but I certainly am improving my fitness and dropping a few kilograms to boot. I'm actually enjoying doing a the mix of training. We bought new bikes and Matt and I have been enjoying regular bike rides. We both hate running, and since Matt doesn't have a weight problem nor need to run a triathlon in a few weeks he has now given up getting up for running training sessions. I've been fitting in 1 swim a week.

The triathlon has given me a different goal to focus on. My health and fitness and running the best time I can in the event. The baby making mission is still the motivator behind it, but I'm going to wait until after the triathlon to do our next embryo transfer.

I'm also letting myself let me hair down a little over easter. I'm going to enjoy a few drinks and chocolate and then from next week I'm getting back on the wagon to make the most out of my last few weeks of training.

In May we plan to roll the dice again, and give baby making a chance.

Mission failure

Today I am recovering from a curette. This is the third time I've had this procedure, which is necessary after a partial miscarriage. I'm certainly a lot more philosophical about it today than I was on Wednesday, the day before the curette. 

Wednesday morning started like any other. I happily rolled out of bed preparing for work. After going to the loo I noticed a very small streak of pinkish, redish blood on the toilet paper. I immediately grab more paper and wiped again - nothing. I repeat this again, still nothing. 

I've had bleeding in every pregnancy. Every time doctors have told me bleeding happens in loads of pregnancies and that it is fine. This is smallest amount of bleeding, it is so tiny, I actually consider if I should even bother with telling Matt. I know the effect telling him will have.  

I have a shower and think about all the possibilities, I wonder if it is because I stopped the progesterone support on Monday, perhaps I need to start taking it again. I decide I will ring my fertility specialist's office, even though I know my doctor is on leave still. I'm hoping they will have someone on back up who can make a call on what I should do. I tell Matt about the spotting and tell him I'll ring the doctor and see if I can get a blood test or even better another ultrasound. As I'm leaving for work I tell Matt I'll call him once I've spoken to a doctor.

On the train to work I keep thinking about it. I was going to wait until I got to work to make some calls in private, but I just can't get it out of my mind. I decide to make some discreet calls on the train. My first call was to my fertility specialist and again, with my doctor on holidays it is hopeless. The receptionist suggests I ring my obstetrician. I ring the obstetrician, her receptionist initially recommends I speak with my fertility specialist - once she knows he is on leave she suggests I make an appointment with my GP to get a referral for an ultrasound. I ring my GP, she is on holidays too, however now she is in a GP super clinic so I make an appointment with another GP for 4.30pm. 

I ring Matt and tell him I'm going to make a sneaky appointment, before I have the ultrasound referral, so once I've seen the GP we can go straight to the ultrasound. 

My fertility specialist's receptionist rings me back, she has spoken to another specialist who said the bleed might be a reaction to going off the progesterone and that I can start taking them again. Personally I didn't really find this helpful. Then my obstetrician's office rings me back, the obstetrician has given me a referral for an ultrasound and has already made me a 1pm appointment with the Women's Diagnostic centre at the Mater. The receptionist is even going to take the referral up to Women's diagnostic for me, so I just go straight there. Awesome, this is super helpful.

I'm really impressed and relieved. This obstetrician is supposed to be the best. She is really hard to get in to see. I figure now that she has organised the ultrasound that she'll be on hand to review the results of the scan and will take me on, two weeks before my initial appointment, if I need any medical intervention at this point.

At 12.30 Matt comes to pick me up from work and we head to the Mater. I was genuinely thinking this is just another crazy pregnant lady scan. I'm 99% sure everything is fine. Maybe even more than that. Our last scan was only 11 days ago and it was perfect, bleeding in early pregnancy is normal - I've been told that soooooo many times.

As per usual for these scans I'm busting to pee. You need to drink 600ml of water the hour before the scan as it is easier to see the uterus with a full bladder - or something like that. The sonographer gets the scan underway with squirt of cool gel onto my tummy. This room has a screen at the end of the bed, so it is really easy for Matt and I both to see the scan. 

I can see where the baby is, the sonographer zooms in. It is different to my last two scans. I can see the baby, it looks still, completely still, no flicker, nothing. The sonographer pokes around a little bit more and then says, I don't think I can see the heartbeat. She asks when the last scan was and suggests it is best to do an internal scan to get a closer look. She sends me off to pee before the internal scan and in the toilet I start crying. I can't believe it. This was supposed to a reassuring scan, not a confirmation of the worst scan. I try to pull myself together and head back into the room. When Matt sees me he looks a little shocked, I must look bad, or maybe he still had some hope, I'm not sure.

The internal scan is no better. Definitely can't see the heartbeat. Baby measures 8 weeks, which marginally smaller than the last scan. The sonographer wants to bring the doctor in to be extra sure. The doctor is also certain. They both say they are sorry. When they leave room for me to redress I lose it. I just can't believe it. I'm growling a series of questions out loud. Why is it always that the baby stops developing almost immediately after our last scan? Why do we have almost 2 more weeks thinking everything is great? Why do we get further along than before, with an absolutely perfect, no signs of trouble pregnancy only to once again lose the baby? How many times can this happen to us? How much of this can we take? I finally say I don't even know what to do anymore.

Matt is more the quiet thoughtful type, so he says nothing. We are both gutted. 

To their credit the Women's Diagnostic unit is all kinds of awesome, unlike the ridiculous situation that occurred last time we had the same result in the Mt Gravatt Qld Xray. This time they bring all the paperwork to me in our room, so we don't have to go back out to the front counter and pay in a distressed state at reception. They recommend we head straight down to our obstetrician's office, that they will ring in advance and let them know the outcome.

When we get downstairs the obstetrician has already left for the day and the receptionist will have to reach her to find out what to do now. She doesn't think they will be able to fit me in as the obstetrician is fully booked and besides doesn't have any of my complex medical history. Again she suggests I ring my fertility specialist and find out who he has on call for him. I already know the answer is no one, that is the answer every time. She suggests Matt and I hang around the medical precinct for a while so she can try to sort something out with our fertility specialist. 

Matt and I head down to West End and have some lunch. I can't believe the obstetrician can't help me. I thought that she would, given that she'd arranged the ultrasound. I know I need a curette, I know this is a really common obstetrics procedure, but my obstetrician won't take me, my fertility specialist is holidays until Monday and I'm stuck ringing around like a beggar trying to get someone else to take me. I ask my fertility specialist if the doctor who did my last curette, because my specialist was on leave, can take me? I tell the obstetrician's receptionist that another doctor in their group did my first curette, can she take me? The receptionists start ringing around for me. 

The first offer from the fertility specialist is a Friday appointment at 4.30pm. I know I won't be able to get the curette on the same day, so it will probably be Monday before I am having the procedure. I accept it as it is the best that can be done. Great we have days of carrying around the dead baby, with the chance that it could start to fully miscarry (which is apparently very painful and has the risk of me hemorrhaging and losing lots of blood). 

Matt and I decide to head home as there is little chance we will be seeing anyone today. We are almost home when the obstetrician's receptionist rings me back having made an appointment for me with the newest obstetrician in their group. She can see me right now. We have to get over to Spring Hill. We head back to town and meet another doctor. I think she's a good fit for me because she is a part of the Queensland Fertility Group (where I get my fertility treatment) and rivercity obstetrics (where I've had my small amount of obstetrics).

The new specialist has to ask all the horrible questions about my gynecological history:

• How many pregnancies? 4
• How many live births? 0
• How many miscarriages? this is number 3
• What other problems? 2 ectopics - 0 fallopian tubes left and I had my gallbladder removed.

At this point 3 + 2 doesn't equal 4, so I explain the last pregnancy was heterotopic, so I had the pleasure of ectopic and miscarriage. Once again, the new specialist tells me how rare heterotopic pregnancy is and reflects on what a tragic year 2011 was for us. 

Thankfully she has taken the liberty of already making a surgery time for us. At noon on Thursday at the same day specialist surgery most of the QFG stuff is done. She steps me through the risks of the procedure. She is very sympathetic. I'm really grateful she would take us on. 

Matt and I head back to the car. I tell him I'm glad we got with in with someone, I have a little moan about how stupidly hard it has all been. I then say, I'm not looking forward to having to ring the family. Matt says, neither am I. 

Panic sets in and passes again

Exactly 2 weeks and 1 day after our first ultrasound I started to panic that our baby was going to miscarry or was already miscarrying. I had no cramping, no bleeding, basically I had no symptoms of miscarriage. However, I also suddenly had no morning sickness, my fatigue had dropped. I felt great and I panicked.

My fertility specialist is obviously used to his patients who have struggled through infertility going crazy and thought to send me two referrals for ultrasounds, despite only really needing the one to confirm the pregnancy at 6 and half weeks. I grabbed that second referral and booked in for another ultrasound to find out what was going on.

Last Friday Matt and I were super pleased to find out our baby was still there and kicking arse with a whopping 167 beat per minute heart beat. Baby (which I think is still technically called an embryo) measured 8 weeks and 1 day. While I had our numbers at 8 weeks 4 days, the sonographer assured us that in early pregnancy the days can commonly be out by up to 5 days.

I do wonder about just how accurate the measurement in ultrasound is. Apparently those little tiny babies, ours measured just 1.8 centimentres, can be doing crunches or stretching out, making their crown to rump measurement relatively shorter or longer. Then, what about naturally different growth? I wonder if our baby is more likely to be short, like me, rather than a tall, like Matt.

Over the past week my unpleasant pregnancy symptoms have remained at bay. Queasiness has disappeared altogether giving way to previously unknown urges to eat chips or vegemite sandwiches. Peeing in the middle of the night has picked up, making an uninterrupted night's sleep a thing of the past - which I understand is good practice for when the baby is born.

I am also having vivid dreams that I remember about nothing especially important. I had a very detailed dream about one of my colleague's hair. Last night I had a lovely dream where I was holding our new baby. I don't know if it was a boy or girl, but it was only a dream...

Right now I feel really positive about the pregnancy. I'm the most pregnant I've ever been and absolutely nothing is going wrong. I want to stay this way, excited, happy, confident. It has only been 6 days since the last ultrasound and it is three weeks until my first obstetrician's appointment. It seems like a long time to wait. I hope I will remain panic free and happy until then.

Slow news days

For the first time in pregnancy I have experienced slow news days. Literally nothing is happening.

Last Thursday I did my follow up blood test and my HCG levels had more than doubled to 420 - which is great and exactly what should be happening in those early weeks. In my three previous pregnancies I had spotting/bleeding to different degrees by this time. But this time, I have nothing.

This week Matt even asked when my next test will be. I had to tell him I don't need to have any tests because nothing is going wrong. We were both kind of laughing about it. How strange it was that I wasn't running in to do blood tests every other day and then waiting for the result. I told Matt that I actually don't feel like I'm pregnant because my experience of pregnancy has always been so stressful and worrying. Without the worry, it feels just like normal.

We do have a viability ultrasound referral. Unfortunately due to the Christmas holidays I can't go into the specialist's office for the viability scan. The good thing about going to an ultrasound place is they have better equipment so we should be able to see the baby (or babies - slightly freaking out about that now it seems it could be a real possibility). The bad thing is if something is wrong I then need to track down a doctor to interpret the scan.

I know exactly what I want to see during the ultrasound. A great big strong heart beat. A baby (or babies - still freaking out) that measures within a day or two of the size it should be. I want to see a conclusive result so we know the baby (or babies...) is well and doing what it should do.

Occasionally I catch myself and I know I am really excited. It feels like this time it is for real. Then I have days, like today, where I wake up and think "maybe it's blighted ovum, I've never had that happen and that would be just our luck." There is no reason to believe this is blighted ovum, I just can't believe that finally this could be it.

Today I am 5 weeks and 3 days pregnant and everything is looking good, although it is still super early days.

The old adage no news is good news rings true.

Transfer completed

On Friday, I decided to postpone transfer.

In the morning I rang the Queensland Fertility Group Lab to check on my embryos and was shocked to learn the 7 cell embryo was still just 7 cells, and the 8 cell embryo was now 12 cells. I got nervous, and thought it unlikely that the embryos would be viable given how slowly they were developing. The embryologist told me the 12 cell still looked okay, but the 7 cell was being downgraded, not because it looked bad, but because it was developing so slowly.

I rang my fertility specialist and he didn't seem all that excited by the results either. He mentioned we could move the transfer to Saturday, so we could see how they go. I decided that was a good idea. I'd rather not transfer unviable embryos. So at the last minute we decided to wait.

My anxiety levels crept up and so did Matt's. On Friday afternoon I rang the lab again and asked them to have another look at the embryos. Only 5 hours later the 7 cell embryo had suddenly kicked on to being 12-13 cells and the 12 cell embryo had started compacting into a morula. This is all good news. It is amazing how quickly it all changes. At 10am I think I might not even have any embryos to transfer, or at best 1. By 3pm everything is rolling well again.

Saturday transfer was early. Technically the embryos are just about 5 days old (based on when they made, and how long they've been thawed). Ideally they would be blastocysts, but when we see the embryologist he said in the morning when they looked at them they were both morulas. He then said he'd another sneaky look just before transfer and one looked like it has started cavitation, meaning it was turning into the blastocyst. Super news again!

My fertility specialist asks if I'm sure about putting them both in. Logically one healthy baby is the desired result, but I've had so many not work, my brain does not compute that two embryos going in could genuinely equate to two babies out. I can't even really perceive one baby out. I say yes to two embryos. My fertility specialist looks a little nervous for me. I'm glad he has so much confidence about the success of this transfer!

Matt and I slip out to the patient lounge and sit for 30 minutes and then it is back on with life as normal - like embryo transfer was just a trip to the dentist. I had lunch and movies with a girlfriend planned and Matt and I had a few errands we wanted to run before then.

I've got nearly 2 weeks before I do the pregnancy blood test.

The night before transfer

I'd be lying if I said I felt great. This week a few things have happened and I've felt waves of anxiety with every thing that has not gone quite so smoothly.

Firstly, yesterday morning I rang the lab to find out how our lovely little embryos went through the thaw, only to find the lab didn't have my paperwork. A few hours later my fertility specialist rang me and explained there had been a clerical hitch that resulted in my thaw instructions not being faxed. My paperwork was sent immediately and the thaw started a day later than planned. 

Today I rang again to find out how the thaw had gone and was pleased to learn I had 2 good looking embryos, one had 8 cells, the other 7 cells. I then learned that three embryos had been thawed, as one of my embryos didn't survive the thaw. 

I'm still booked for transfer tomorrow, but I need to ring first thing in the morning and make sure the embryos are still okay. If anything is looking iffy, the transfer may be moved to Saturday. I'm hoping that the two thawed embryos just keep on growing overnight and that tomorrow I will have only good news.

On the good news front, Matt has arranged to leave work early to be able to make the transfer, so he will be with me and we will both leave a hope in our hearts.

With the small setbacks, I admire my fertility specialist even more. He rang me personally to tell me that the thaw hadn't gone ahead and discussed all the options at that point with me directly. Again today he spoke with me about the result of the thaw and went out of his way to make a transfer time that was more suitable for us and making it a lot easier for Matt to make it.

Frozen embryo transfer (FET) eve has a very different feel than it did in August when we did our first  FET. Last time everything pre-transfer ran smoothly, however everything after transfer went pear shaped. I'm hoping these little set backs before transfer bode well for smooth sailing post transfer.

Excitement as a new cycle begins

Let's face it, I've had a crazy year. We've had a crazy year. Getting pregnant has been happening. Damn fallopian tubes have been a problem, but they are gone. I wonder about the babies that got stuck in the tubes, maybe they were okay, maybe they had the same chromosomal problems the babies that have miscarried did - I don't know. But surely out of eight shiny, beautiful embryos there must be a couple of good ones.

I've already started with blood tests, looking for ovulation this cycle. Based on the results that I'm getting, the fertility specialist thinks that is going to happen in the next couple of days and when it does, we are taking two shiny, little embryos out of the freezer.

Given our history, I don't think that both will take. All I want is one to do what it is supposed to do. And if somehow both stick, I'm ready to cope with double trouble. As ready as anyone - who has no kids and no idea just how hard that could possibly be - can be.

In the past couple of months I've been surrounded by people having babies, my neighbour, three of my work colleagues, my in-laws. I feel like I've cuddled more babies in the last month than I have in my whole life. And each cuddle seems to give me more hope.

I have such hope for this cycle I can barely contain it. Every once and a while I catch a glimpse of my own enthusiasm and I start to think about how having so much hope means I'm also potentially in for a big fall if it doesn't work. I'm throwing caution to the wind. I just don't want to put the breaks on my enthusiasm. I really want this cycle to work and I can't see any reason why it shouldn't, so why shouldn't I be hopeful, excited and positive.

All positive baby making vibes are welcomed over the next couple of weeks.  :)

Work is just a necessary evil

This week I feel I could quit and never work again.

While I may have from time-to-time dreamed of being independently wealthy and not needing to work, the desire just to throw in the towel is a foreign feeling for me. I've always gotten some level of enjoyment out of my work. Right now my job is like a love affair turned sour - I'm going through the motions, getting the job done, but the passion has evaporated.

For a while there I thought it must have been the job so I was looking, looking, looking for something else. A new, exciting, less stressful job. This week the penny dropped. It's not the job, it's me. You see, I've gone crazy. Rational thought has left the head, all that remains is a relentless body clock ticking maddeningly chiming hourly "you need to get yourself a baby a get yourself on maternity leave".

I wish I could soak in the many thoughts and recommendations that everything will be fine and that we will have children and once we do I'll wish I hadn't wasted all this pre-children time being a nut case. While I don't mind people saying it and some days it may even make me feel better, most of the time it simply washes over me. It just doesn't matter how rational your arguments are, I can't hear you. You see, all I hear is tick, tick, tick. I think once you want to have a kid and you've had years of set backs, all the amount of rationality in the world doesn't help. I've actually gone crazy. Sorry. Rational discussion on the topic doesn't matter anymore.

When I think what would I do if I didn't work, the picture gets much worse. All that time to sit around and feel sorry for myself and think more about wishing we had children. No thanks.

I've realised it is more likely my personal dissatisfaction, versus my job dissatisfaction, that makes me not want to go to work. With this revelation I've come to a decision - I'm going to stop looking for, thinking about, applying for other jobs - and I feel really good about that.

Work is a necessary evil. Once I've got this part-time balance right, I'm sure it will be excellent. Just the right amount of distraction and time to do things I enjoy or that are good for my health.

I've also made another decision this week. As I'm clearly getting nutty again, I'm not going to wait to do my next frozen embryo transfer. I've spoken with my fertility specialist and he said physically there is no reason I can't try again straight away (I heard the subtext - but you may be getting a little nutty, so perhaps need to calm down a bit).

Nutty or not, I'm lining up again.

Taking a step back

Most people who know me, know I work pretty hard. I am reliable. If I have a job to do, it gets done. I take my work very seriously and while I love to have fun at work it would never be at the expense of actually performing my role to the highest standard.

This year I've had two unexpected lengthy drop outs of the office for ectopic pregnancy surgery and recovery and one shorter planned drop out for my gallbladder surgery. I am grateful that because I have been a hard worker with the one employer for a long time I have a large sick leave balance, that even now (after 50 sick days since February) has a few weeks left in it. So I'm not on sick leave stressing about getting back to work for the money, I'm stressing about letting people down and not getting to complete things for which I was responsible.

With the curette confirmed I decide to meet with work and ask if I could return to work part-time. I feel so distressed about the idea of returning full-time to the same role. I just don't have the same stamina to manage the pressure of the day-to-day work load. I'm so lucky because I know just in my asking that my workplace will do practically anything to help me out. The Acting CEO is more than happy to arrange a 3-day week for me and to have me oversee a few smaller, special projects instead of the state-wide role I'd been performing.

Phew. It is a massive release to know for at least 3-months I will return to work only 3-days a week. More days off than in the office. Excellent.

The next day is curette day. It is uneventful, fast and painless when compared to every other surgery I've had in 2011. It is also sad. I remember my first one of these procedures I had back in 2009 when we lost our first pregnancy and I know I'm nowhere near as sad and that I'm emotionally dealing with this better. I guess so much has happened since then.

The following week I finally get to have a follow up appointment with my fertility specialist. It feels like months since I've seen him, but it only a few weeks. When he sees me waiting in his rooms he looks sheepish and says "I don't think I want to see you." I tell him too bad, that I have a massive list of questions so he is just going to have to suck it up. As we walk down the corridor he puts his arm around my shoulders and says "I'm so sorry".

I wasn't joking about my list - I had written one as I was worried when I got in there I would forget everything. The first thing he answers is the result of the curette. They test the products of conception to find out if there is a reason the baby miscarried. Like our first miscarriage there was a chromosomal problem, the fetus had two extra chromosomes. So it wasn't the drugs, or the surgeries, or the infections that caused the miscarriage, it was nature.

The rest of the list is pretty straight forward, except for my belly button wound - which is STILL OOZING! Not as badly as the initial infection, but just not healed. My specialist takes another swab and armed with the results of my blood cultures from when I was in hospital he send it off to be tested. He gives me a new antibiotics prescription that I am only to fill if he rings me with the result of the swab.
It turned out I was still infected, so I needed to go back on the antibiotics.

Now it is a waiting game where only my emotional health will determine when we get back in the IVF saddle. Thankfully there are eight little frozen embryos ready and waiting to be transferred, when I think I'm ready for another go. Initially I was thinking 3 months off, but we'll see...  with no chance of natural conception, I think I will find myself wanting to get back into it sooner, especially while I'm able to take a step back at work and focus on myself for a while.

More ultrasounds more tears

My first impression of the alternative specialist I am booked into is good. He is really understanding of everything that has been going on and helps me feel at ease.

He goes through everything that has been chased down by his receptionist and my fertility specialist's office, tracking back through all the medical incidents of the past few weeks. Dates, dates, dates. We agree the baby should be bigger than the 6 weeks it measured at the ultrasound. He then adds, the heartbeat is a little slower than he would liked. He asks if he can do an in room scan.

I'm across the hall in a foreign ultrasound room. It is fancy! There is a big TV high on the wall, so it is easy to see the screen when reclined in the bed. Matt is with me, standing next to the bed. I'm looking at the TV and even though the doctor isn't even scanning I'm looking at the big screen thinking I'm going to be looking at the baby up there and it might be dead. Oh crap, this is going to be hard. I'm already getting choked up.

I am just holding it together when the doctor comes in. He is quickly getting on with the scan, another internal scan. He is poking around I can't see anything of note on the screen, then the doctor starts talking me through it. There is the gestation sack, there is the baby, there is no apparent heart beat. The baby measures 6 weeks. He says he is sorry, but there doesn't appear to be a heart beat. He leaves me to get dressed and come back across the hallway to the other office. I am crying as I get redressed. Matt is angry. He says he is just sick of it.

The specialist explains that the in-room scan is not as good as the diagnostic ulstrasound, and although it doesn't look good, he would hate to recommend a curette (to clean out the uterus) without getting a diagnostic scan done. He refers me to have another scan done. I feel it is all over, but I'm hanging onto the little bit of hope, perhaps the diagnostic scan will miraculously see an 8 week old fetus with a strong, fast heart beat.

The next day Matt and I again roll into an x-ray centre. In the diagnostic ultrasound the sonographer says the baby is still the same size as our earlier scan (which was nearly a week ago) and there is no longer a heartbeat. Even when you are expecting it, it is horrible. I am weeping on the bed. I want to have a private and dignified grief, but here I am stuck with a stranger in a clinical little room and I can't contain my sadness. And I know I have to pull it together enough to get up and go out and pay (I had asked if I could pay before I went in, given the expected result, but apparently this is not possible). We ditched waiting for the scan films - all those baby ultrasounds of babies just look freaky to me these days, let alone knowing it is your dead baby.

As this was the mostly expected outcome, the alternative fertility specialist had tentatively booked me in for a curette on Friday. A curette to remove the products of conception (this is now the medical term for what was only days ago called the baby). In just a couple of phone calls the procedure is confirmed.

I don't understand my own thinking through all of this. In part I'm relieved it is almost all over. This has been such an incredibly traumatic experience and if the pregnancy did continue, I don't know when, if ever, I would have stopped worrying about the damage all the drugs I had to take early on might have caused. In part, the much larger part, I'm devastated. Why has it been so hard? Why have we had so many pregnancies, but no babies? Why all the loss?

For certain, the whole of me is worn thin. I can't fathom going back to work as it has been for the past few years.

Something's got to give.

My first frozen embryo transfer

I was astonished by how quickly I recovered from my gallbladder surgery. Within a couple of days it was as though it had never happened. My fertility specialist was happy for me to proceed in my next cycle with a frozen embryo transfer.

Given that my cycle is reasonably reliable, the specialist is happy for me to do a natural cycle. I'm stoked that I don't need to take any drugs at all for the first half of my cycle, I just let my body do what it does naturally.

Once my period started I let my fertility specialist know. It is then a case of monitoring. I need to go for regular blood tests to check my hormone levels are where they should be and need to have a couple of ultrasounds in my specialist's office to confirm my uterus lining is appropriately thick. It was doing these scans that I discovered I was ovulating on the left side, the side that lost the fallopian tube as a result of the ectopic pregnancy in February. I'm kind of pleased about that. Although it is possible for the right fallopian tube to pick up the egg from the left ovary (that is freaky right, but those fallopian tubes are apparently limber little suckers with fingers on the end and can just sweep over to the other side of the uterus to pick up the egg!), I figure it isn't all that likely, so feel extremely justified in my decision to proceed with IVF treatment.

Once we know I'm about to ovulate, we have to make the decision about how many embryos to thaw - 1 or 2. The specialist is all about 1 healthy baby is the ideal outcome, and therefore a singleton pregnancy is the best chance of achieving a healthy baby. However, I'm thinking, I've just put 1 embryo back in and nothing happened, and I've already had one miscarriage, perhaps if I put 2 back in, I'll actually get the 1 we all want.

Matt and I decide we will thaw our best embryo and our worst embryo to put 2 back in. We also decide that if one succumbs during the thaw, that we won't thaw another, we will just put the 1 back in. It is pretty exciting at this point, every day I get to speak to a scientist in the lab and hear how my embryos are progressing. Both are developing well, however 1 is a little slower than it should be.

Come transfer day I go to work as usual, and then a half hour before I'm due at the hospital I log off and let my team know I'll be on mobile for the rest of the afternoon. It is a beautiful mid August Brisbane day. It is ekka time and the days are stunning, clear blue skies and warm. I walk up to the hospital in Spring Hill, stopping in at my specialist's office to drop off some paperwork.

Matt is meeting me there, but I have time to get changed into my gorgeous hospital gown before he had arrived. When Matt arrives he quickly slips on his hospital attire over his clothes and before you know it we are being lead into the theatre. Thankfully there is only my specialist and nurse in the theatre so I can assume the transfer position without too much embarrassment. Matt is in the husband chair holding my hand.

The scientist comes in and tells us that both embryos have progressed to morula stage. They are 5 days old and ideally should be blastocysts by now. My specialist tells me not to be too concerned and the scientists assures us they were both still developing well and could literally be blastocysts in a matter of hours.

A quick turkey baster job medical style and 2 tiny embryos are inside trying to make themselves comfortable. I have hold the transfer position for another few embarrassing minutes while the lab quickly check the turkey baster under a microscope to ensure the embryos actually did make it out. Given the all clear I'm off the table and covered up in moments.

My doctor walks us out and wishes us all the best. He lets me know I can do a blood test in 12 days to confirm if I am pregnant.

I slip back into my normal clothes and then sit for the compulsory half hour rest period in the recovery lounge sucking down ginger ale - that I kindly share with Matt  :)

Again the wait begins.

Full IVF cycle part 3 - the big days

Given that I have an laparoscopic surgery in February, that involved actual incisions in my body, the idea of being knocked out while the doctor needles me a number of times to suck out my eggs seems pretty low key.

I roll in to the day theatres an hour or so before I'm due to have the egg pick up procedure. I'm given my hospital gown, slippers, hair net and undies and a plastic bag to put my normal clothes in. I get into the hospital gear and am lead into a communal lounge room, all the while carrying around my personal possessions in my plastic bag.

The anesthetist leads me to a pre op consult room and proceeds to scare the bejesus out of me about all the things that can go wrong under general and then asks me to sign a disclaimer that states I've been advised of the dangers. My fertility specialist then comes in and asks if I've got any questions. He has the complete opposite effect to the scary anesthetist. I feel calmed and excited at the same time.

I walk myself, towing my plastic bag of personal possessions, into the theatre. My personal possessions are put on a trolley in the corner and I jump up on the bed.

While I've been preparing for my procedure, Matt has been preparing his own contribution. After much consideration, he had decided he would be able to provide his specimen at the hospital, meaning it would be done close to the exact time required. When I was lead off to get changed Matt was walking down a hallway with a brown bag of hospital porn dvds and a sterile jar.

As I'm getting comfortable on the theatre bed the room is filling up. There must be 6 or so people in there, the only 2 I know are my fertility specialist and the scary anesthetist. A scientist introduces themselves and advises they have Matt's specimen and that it was excellent. She tells me in the labs Matt has been declared 'stud of the day'. I laugh and say Matt is going to love that. My doctor is laughing too. Scary anesthetist hasn't cracked a smile. My fertility specialist says I shouldn't tell him as it will go straight to his head.

Next thing the anesthetist is saying 'a little sting' and I'm off to sleep.

I wake up in the recovery ward with my plastic bag of possessions on the bed beside me. After a half hour I'm up and racing, well as racing as one can be when they have ovaries the size of oranges. I change back into my own clothes and head to the communal recovery lounge. Matt arrives pretty soon after. We learn the procedure has picked up 14 eggs and Matt learns he was 'stud of the day'.

We head home just a couple of hours after we arrive. I'm a bit steady, having many of the hyperstimulation symptoms, but I'm operational.

The next day our fertility specialist rings to tell us that of our 14 eggs an incredible 11 have fertilised and that embryo transfer will go ahead as planned the following day.

On the day of the embryo transfer the embryo lab call me and say I have 11 embryos, all either grade 3 or 4 (on a 5 point scale with 5 being the highest). Some of 4 cells, some are only 2 cells. Basically, this is awesome. I have a lot of really good quality embryos to choose from. I let them know to pick the best looking one to be transferred back in.

Throughout the IVF process you are reminded about natural attrition. My specialist has advised me that every step usually only 50 - 70% progress. Therefore, of 14 eggs, I'd hoped at least 10 would fertilise. I hoped we would have 6 viable embryos at the end of the full cycle. To have 11 embryos, and of such high quality, was exceptional.

Matt and I head back into the hospital where we both suit up into the medical gear. For the transfers the husbands/partners are invited to come into the theatre. We head in together and I jump back up on the bed. Matt takes a seat in the well placed husband's chair so he can hold my hand but not see the medical component.

Transfers are basically painless although they are a little embarrassing. No anesthetic is required and it is all over in a matter of minutes however, one does have to bare all. Modesty is not a helpful quality when it comes to embryo transfers.

Afterwards we get changed and rest for about a half an hour in the recovery lounge. The first half hour of two weeks of waiting before we will know if the physical and emotional roller coaster of the injecting, tablets, pessaries, bloating, nausea, scary anesthetists, blood tests, prodding and scanning delivers the result we are hoping for.

The year of medical interventions IVF part 1

I've been completely cheating on the blog. It is funny what comes out of the wood work with friends, family and strangers when you start writing some of your inner most thoughts and publishing them for anyone to read. In April I was hit by a few comments that led me to decide to take a break from the blog.

A lot has happened since I last blogged and I thought it was worth getting back to publishing.

May and June were all about IVF. I hoped July would be about first trimester musings, but as it turned out July was all about my gallbladder.

It will take me a few posts to catch up on everything. In case you have been wondering my first IVF cycle was unsuccessful in the sense that I still do not have a bun in the oven. On the other hand, the cycle was very successful in creating multiple viable embryos (essential for future attempts at achieving pregnancy) and for improving my mental health, where for the first time in a long time, achieving pregnancy seems imminent and therefore an overarching panic about not being pregnant has diminished.

In late May I left the fertility specialist's office with my very own cooler bag, filled with legal drugs in their own epipens for easy administration. I remember as I stood at the lift thinking 'I can't believe it has come to this'. It was overwhelming to think that now my conception chances were all about injections and nasal sprays, and not intercourse.

It just felt so unnatural. All those ingrained ideas and fears float around my mind. Perhaps as some suggest I am only a holiday and a bottle of wine away from getting up the duff (which for the record, I would like to state did not work on all attempts tried). Even worse I get all martyrish and think perhaps if you can't have children naturally maybe I'm not supposed to. And worse again I start thinking perhaps I'll finally get to have a baby, suffer from relentless post-natal depression, hate the baby and wish I had remained childless.

I sneak the drugs back into the office and hide them in the fridge on another floor of our office in an attempt to avoid any questions and try to conceal that I am doing IVF from my colleagues (ironic given that I write and publish a blog for anyone to read). Back at my desk for the afternoon I am distracted by continually reminding myself to not forget drugs in upstairs fridge. Must remember drugs, must remember drugs, that design looks good, must remember drugs upstairs.

Thankfully I remember the drugs when I'm leaving and get them home safely and into my own fridge. By this stage, I've already been taking a nasal spray for about a 2-weeks and I've had 1 blood test, just to make sure all my hormones are where they should be if the nasal spray is working. Tick - all go for commencing injections.

A few weeks ago Matt and I sat through a 90 minute session with an IVF clinic nurse in which we were shown how to administer all the different drugs. My doctor also has made me use one of the epipens in his rooms. He makes me dial up the dosage and over the bin I push down on the end of the epipen, hold for 10 seconds to witness how the release of drugs is a little delayed. When I get home I put my drugs in the fridge and find they've come with another DVD with instructions. I tell myself 'must watch instructional DVD to ensure correct procedure is followed, therefore increasing eggs produced and all chance of IVF success'.

In fact everything I'm doing at this point was about increasing chances of IVF success. Must not drink wine to increase chance of IVF success. Must exercise and eat well to loose weight to increase chance of IVF success (fertility specialist had again mentioned that any amount of weight loss would help, even 2 - 3 kg - which I decided was achievable and as would increase chance of IVF success was on the to do list!). Must get 8 hours sleep to help stay relaxed and stress free to help chance of IVF success. Must take multi vitamin, pre-conception vitamin, iron tablet and fish oil to increase chance of IVF success.

The next morning I have my set time for injecting. I have to pick a time that I can consistently meet everyday, including weekends, workdays, potential flights. I pick just after 7am as the most achievable consistent time for 10 - 16 days of injections. By this time I realise I don't have enough time to watch the instructional DVD (should have done so night before) and blowing caution to the wind proceed with first injection. I was extremely pleased with the ease of injection and zero pain and decide no longer need to watch DVD as clearly I'm a professional already.

Diagnosis delivered

The diagnosis - idiopathic infertility, or unexplained infertility. Does it make me feel any better? No. However it also doesn't make me feel any worse. For the first time in some months I'm feeling quite excited about my infertility because we've been recommended to undergo in vitro fertilisation - IVF.

Initially I was a bit shocked when I attended my post-surgery follow up that my specialist recommended we move quickly into IVF. I'd geared myself for moving onto intra-uterine insemination (aka the medical turkey baster) for the next few months, before moving into IVF if that was unsuccessful. But then the doctor started showing me all the scary charts and percentages of conception and live birth at my age. 

I turn 36 in July. All things fertility have been declining since I was 25 and basically after 38 things start going rapidly downhill in fertility terms. So my specialist, who is clearly a pretty clever guy, is already thinking about my chances of having a second child if we keep taking the less invasive path. 

IVF involves stimulating the hormones that make women create an egg, while suppressing the hormone that makes the body actually ovulate the egg. This means a woman can mature a lot more eggs than in a natural cycle. These eggs are then harvested and fertilised in fancy little dishes. I will have my very own embryo technician who will monitor the embryo development and advise how many - if any - are looking good for transfer back into my uterus or to freeze for later use. 

It means a lot of cash out and a lot of drugs in. Yay! I get to inject them myself too. Double yay!

The treatment gets underway soon, starting with two weeks of nasal sprays to suppress the creation of the hormones that make the mature egg ovulate. If all goes to plan I expect we will be undergoing the egg harvest and embryo transplant in late May or early June. 

Once the embryo gets transferred back in there is two weeks to wait before we know if I am pregnant. Unfortunately given our history, there is then another 2-3 weeks to wait before we can have a scan to see if the baby is developing normally and in the right location. 

I'm excited about the possibility of it working. And I really hope it does.

As for my ectopic pregnancy, the lab tests of my fallopian tube confirmed I definitely had a pregnancy in  my fallopian tube. I also had a 2cm serous cystadenoma. A non-cancerous growth that really shouldn't be there. I'm not sure if the growth caused the tubal pregnancy or not, but either way that was the outcome. 

The ectopic pregnancy is behind me now. My eyes are firmly fixed on the next step.