Sea and I have decided that a child created using Mickey, our first choice donor, would have been a serial killer.  The child would likely have brought us nothing but grief, making us rue the day we chose the donor we did, before he killed us in our sleep.  He would have been used as an example of the dangers of same-sex parenting by conservatives around the world, with old men shaking their heads and exclaiming, “Just look what can happen!”  So you can thank us now, because IUI #3 didn’t work.

Dr. Text had told us that I could come in for the pregnancy test on Sunday or Monday, and we had previously decided that I would go in on Monday before work.  This morning I woke up early, feeling ill.  I had horrible cramps, and was certain that my body would be bleeding if the progesterone suppositories weren’t preventing it.  If this cycle wasn’t going to work, I wanted it to be done.  I discussed it with a still-groggy Sea, and we decided I would go in to Clinic One.  I would get my blood drawn and, while I was there, I would track down a doctor or nurse and ask why my body might be revolting.

I was at Clinic One less than an hour later, mercifully having my blood drawn by the one technician who can reliably find a vein in my arm.  Soon after the blood draw, my name was called by a young nurse who I didn’t recognise.  She pulled me into an insemination room, and stood in the doorway looking through my file, “Do you feel foolish?”  “Sorry?”, I responded, confused.  “Do you feel fluish?  Fever, chills?”  Oh, fluish.  No, I didn’t feel fluish– just uncomfortable and ill.  She proceeded to tell me that, as a nurse, she couldn’t give any advice.  She told me to take my progesterone as usual, and wait for the results of the pregnancy test.

The nurse called early this afternoon, awkward in what I’m sure is a routine call.  I had managed to avoid these calls in the first two cycles, bleeding before a pregnancy test told me I was going to, but this time I was on progesterone and wasn’t going to bleed until I stopped.  “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your beta was zero.”

Zero.  Not even a little bit pregnant.  Just absolutely and equivocally not pregnant.  Just like I was an $1000+ treatment and two weeks of progesterone suppositories ago.  Just like I was four months and several thousand dollars ago.  Except now our first choice donor has left the program, we’re out of sperm, and really beginning from the start.  Again.

And the cramps that I woke up with have progressed into a stomach flu.

In other news, I read a lot of blogs and a number of people were in the same two week wait I was.  Every single one of those two week waits has resulted in a positive pregancy test, other than ours.  Many of you have been trying a lot longer than Sea and I have, and I’m glad that your results this week are better than ours.  Still, I feel a little left behind.

But we didn’t want to have a serial killer for a child, so this is lucky, I guess.

Bad egg.

I was going to write a post about names: the names I see on the sign in sheets at Clinic One, the strange name of the fourth doctor I’ve seen there, the names that our hypothetical future child might one day call us.

But then, at the end of a long hallway at Clinic One I ran into yet another acquaintance: one who happens to share my name. I had been instructed to wait for my ultrasound at the end of this long hallway, where three chairs pressed against the wall serve as a makeshift waiting area. Two of the chairs were occupied by my acquaintance, her partner, and their tears. After two years of trying and a recent round of IVF, my acquaintance had been pregnant. After two years of trying and a recent round of IVF, the heart had stopped.

And I didn’t want to write my post about names anymore. Though I’m sure I will, at some point.

And I had my ultrasound, and I met with the fourth doctor I’ve seen at Clinic One, and I learned that this cycle is almost certainly out. My dominant follicle has disappeared, which the doctor blames on a bad egg. I’m disappointed, but that disappointment seems small next to somebody else’s loss.

I’ll bleed when I bleed, and we’ll try again. December is likely also out due to holiday travel plans. In the meantime, I have to go back to Clinic One tomorrow so that the doctor(s) can try to figure out what happened.

It wasn’t a good morning, but for somebody else it was worse.

Total Ultrasound Count: 15

First try is not the charm.

This afternoon I turned to Sea and asked, “What happens to the 19.8 million sperm after they all die?  Where do they go?”

Clearly my body received the message that I dislike suspense, and decided to cut that short two days before my scheduled pregnancy test at Clinic One.

Which is to say, my period is beginning. 

After 15+ years of bleeding, I’m fairly adept at figuring out when it’s on its way.  A particular brand of irratability, increased chocolate consumption… yes, it’s true, I follow all of the PMS cliches.  By Friday enough of these symptoms had made an appearance that I predicted a bleeding uterus would soon follow.  And today that prediction came true.

My Clinic One acquaintance had told me about wild fluctuations between hope and despair in the days leading up to her pregnancy test and how she had cried at the negative result.  I wondered at the time if this would be me.  It isn’t.  I’m disappointed by the money spent, that we have to wait longer than another nine months to have a kid, that the suspense is clearly just going to continue, that this isn’t it.  Disappointment that is intensified by a cold and cloudy day and nagging cramps.  But I’m not crying over the 19.8 million sperm and one egg that didn’t make it either. 

Back to Clinic One on Tuesday.  Come on, November– bring it.