Sometimes the universe can seem so cruel. We had our second frozen embryo transfer last Tuesday. That same day, my grandfather was moved to hospice care. The next day, he passed away. I spent days 1-6 post transfer prepping for and attending his wake and funeral service. Today is 7 days post transfer, and it looks like this cycle was a bust.
The past week has been a roller coaster. I fluctuated between hope and doubt every day. It didn’t feel like last time. My body felt….different. I also didn’t have the same degree of hope and anticipation that I did with the first cycle. I didn’t feel as excited at embryo transfer. I didn’t feel the same attachment to our embryo. Everything just felt…off.
The biggest struggle was deciding if and when to take a home pregnancy test. As always, I am my own worst enemy.
Last time, with Brodie, we had a positive FRER and Clear Blue Digital five days post transfer. There was no guesswork, just an immediate answer. I wanted to test early again this time. Probably because I was secretly hoping for an early positive. But also because I hoped an inconclusive early negative wouldn’t be upsetting. I could just retest later, or wait for my BETA.
But then I realized that my grandfather’s wake fell on 5dpt (five days post transfer) and his funeral on 6 days post transfer. I drove myself crazy trying to figure out what to do. I was afraid of having a complete meltdown if I tested and received a negative result before the wake or funeral. But I was also too chicken to wait until 7dpt – I figured at that point, a negative may very well be a negative.
I hate to admit it, but I succumbed to the madness that is early pregnancy testing. First mistake: I ordered a ridiculous number of pregnancy tests from Amazon. When they arrived on Saturday, I somehow rationalized that I would just “try them out” to get a “baseline.” Sure, Jenny. That makes COMPLETE sense. So, I got my first BFN (big fat negative) on a Wondfo & First Response 4dp5dt (4 days past 5 day transfer).
Even though I said I wouldn’t, I tested again on Sunday morning. That test, 5 days post transfer, was also negative. At this point, my whole “it’s too early to get upset” logic was thrown out the window. I had a mega-meltdown and cried for about an hour. I pulled myself together and went to the wake for the rest of the day. Alex and I agreed we would not test again until after the funeral.
Fast forward to Monday night: 6 days post transfer. Last time, I had strong positive pregnancy tests at this point. Now that the funeral was over, Alex and I were starting to process the idea that this cycle may not work. Around 10:30, we decided I should take a First Response test. We agreed that if we got a negative, we’d start preparing ourselves for bad news.
So I took the First Response test. I watched the dye wash across the screen – but a second line didn’t start to from. Not even a hint. I left the test on the counter and let Alex know it was probably going to be a negative. We were sad, but had figured this might be the case.
At the end of 3 minutes, I checked back to find…a maybe line?Alex came over and took a look. And he saw it too. We had a super-duper, barely-there, second line. It was definitely pink, but REALLY light and faint.
Cue confusion, hope, anticipation, and fear. We weren’t sure WHAT to think. The logical side of us knew that this might mean chemical pregnancy or a failed implantation. Sometimes the embryos try to implant, start to secrete HCG, but ultimately fail. I figured that there couldn’t be much HCG in my system with that squinty faint line. Just for kicks, I tried a digital: a big fat “not pregnant.”
Confused, but a little intrigued and hopeful, we decided to go to bed and retest in the morning. Even as I warned Alex that we had probably caught the end of a failed implantation, I secretly hoped that we had caught the beginning of a pregnancy with a late implanter. I can be pretty jaded sometimes, but I think a big part of me really believed that I would wake up the next morning and get my real BFP.
As you can tell from the title of this post, that didn’t happen. I woke up and tested Tuesday morning – 7 days post transfer. This time, the faint barely-there line was the same, if not lighter. This was not what I had hoped for.
Tuesday, I completely lost it. I didn’t cry or melt down. Instead, I obsessively googled faint BFP’s, late BFP’s, late implanters, FET chemical pregnancy, etc. I took my remaining ClearBlue digital test (also negative) and two more Wondfos. I scrutinized evap lines on the wondfos and drove myself crazy. By the time Alex got home, I was a basket case.
At this point, I was out of pregnancy tests. So, we went out to the store and bought a few more. We decided that we’d retest at night. I usually get my best positives at night anyway. If I still had that super faint squinter, or if the line disappeared, it was probably a chemical pregnancy.
In the end, I took two sensitive tests – FRER & EPT – at 8:30 at night. No line whatsoever. Nothing.
Of course, we are going to continue with my meds & the PIO shot until the BETA on Thursday. I guess you never really know until BETA confirms it. But I am 99% sure that this cycle is a bust.
It was kind of brutal. June was the month we were supposed to become parents. June 8th was Brodie’s due date. Instead, we watched that due date come and go. We lost my grandfather. We threw ourselves into another FET. And we lost that embryo too. The faint positive the night of the funeral just seems like a cruel joke.
I’m sad, but also feeling more centered now that I am not vacillating between hope and despair. There will definitely be some pity-part moments. And I do feel very discouraged. But, as always, I want to end on a positive note.
It is easy to start linking events together and creating a narrative. Our cycles failed, grandpa died, nothing is working. The universe is out to get me. You know, all that pessimistic bullshit. It’s easy to get sucked into that thought process when so much shit has gone down for the past 2.4 years.
But, I have to remember: I can’t tell the future. Trying to piece together a narrative when you don’t know what is going to happen a week, a month, or a year from now is just plain DUMB.
This is what I believe: We are going to find our way to our child. This embryo was not meant to be our child. Maybe our baby is one of our remaining 7 frozen embryos. Or, maybe the picture is even bigger. Maybe we will end up adopting. And if not for this failure, we may never have found our way to our baby. I know our baby is out there somewhere. So, Alex and I are going to stay strong on this journey and keep moving forward. Good things have happened, and good things will happen. I know it.