The past few days (as I’ve delved back into a routine of needles, hot flashes, and nausea) I’ve been thinking about an unspoken fear.
We all know the fear of trying and failing. Or of success, only to be met with miscarriage. These are common fears. Talked about fears. Fears that we all know can be realized in the blink of an eye.
But I’ve been thinking about another fear. The one that involves me going through this month of treatments; hormones, side effects, and strenuous prep to get my body in baby shape. The fear that involves me getting on a plane and flying to Seattle in anticipation of another transfer, only to be let down the day of should neither embryo come out of the deep freeze intact.
Because it happens. Sometimes embryos just don’t unfreeze. Most statistics say that on average, 65%-70% of embryos will survive the freezing process. With two embryos waiting for me on ice, those statistics would argue that at least one of them should survive.
But what if they don’t? What if neither one makes it? What if I am sitting there in Seattle waiting for another “Get me pregnant!" kind of day, only to discover that the entire trip was in vain? That there is nothing left to transfer at all?
There is no way of knowing how those embryos are doing ahead of time. No way of checking in on them to see if they even look like they might survive the thaw process. No way to assess their chances at all until I'm already there, already full of hormones, and already fully prepped to become an incubator.
And that is scary. To think that this, that all of this, could be in vain.
While another failure would crush me, I’m not sure it would hit nearly as hard as not even being able to try at all. As getting there, only to realize that there was nothing viable to put in.
We were discussing it briefly during today’s live infertility chat. Hitting on all the things to fear in this process, and how little control we have over any of it.
Because the truth is; there is nothing we can do to assist in that end of things. Those embryos will either come out of the deep freeze viable and healthy, or they won’t. They will either make it to transfer, or they won’t. But there is absolutely nothing you can do to control that process. No amount of drugs you can take or acupuncture you can endure to ensure those embryos wake up out of their little comas.
They either will, or they won’t.
And fearing that they won’t, does absolutely no good at all.
Still… I can’t help it. Those two embryos really and truly do feel like my last chance. They feel like the last hope I’ve got of ever carrying a child.
And getting there, only to find out they weren’t viable, would crush me.
I’m trying not to think about it. Trying not to let the fear and negativity sink in at all. But it’s there. In the back of my head. Whispering to me about all the different scenarios where this wouldn’t work.
And until I get there and hear that my embryos are in fact alive and well, I’m sure there will be a part of me holding my breath. Wishing, hoping, and praying for those babies to be to make it through to this next step.
Which will of course be followed by the two week wait. The wishing, hoping, and praying for them to stick.
Followed again by an angsty 9 months. Wishing, hoping, and praying that they will just stay put.
And then a lifetime of wishing, hoping, and praying for them to be safe. For them to always feel my love.
I’m trying to catch my breath where I can, because if all goes according to plan;
I’m not sure I’ll be able to breathe easily ever again.
ADSPACE
