IVF: a difficult decision.

As I suspected, it was just another long month.

More significant is the fact that we spent a good while together reading all the literature that the IVF hospital sent us about the procedure and the forthcoming appointment. We went rather quiet after reading it. I don’t think either of us had quite taken on board just how much medical preparation this could involve. Injections galore – and administered at home, too. Suppositories, which I don’t want to think about even though it wouldn’t be me who had to use them. Lots of appointments: Mrs T would certainly have to tell her boss what was going on unless we were able to time it to coincide with the school summer holiday. Lots of scans. Lots of worry. And, of course, no guarantee of a positive outcome.

Don’t forget this is all being considered by a couple who were uncomfortable about the level of intervention when we did two cycles of IUI treatment before backing out – and that was just a few tablets by comparison. (If you’ve not read the beginning of this story there’s a link on the right of the screen.)

Mrs T’s summary when we spoke about it afterwards was pretty straightforward: “I just don’t think I can do it.”

We’re yet to decide whether to go to the co-ordination appointment and actually speak it all through with someone. It may be that having been approved for NHS funding we can postpone it as long as we want (say a couple more years) while we keep trying to conceive without assistance. After all, the doctor we have spoken to at the hospital did tell us we were still young at 37 (me) and 36 (Mrs T).

I’ll let you know what we decide.

Same old, same old.

This is getting to be something of a routine now: we’ve reached day 32 and there’s no sign of anything happening. I’m beginning to suspect that Mrs T’s cycle is simply longer than it used to be.

Close call for the secret

Mrs T had brief moment’s panic yesterday evening. Our Pastor sent her an email to catch up and ask how she’s doing. I guess he must have recently read this blog because he finished his email with “good news about the IVF”, and I don’t think I’d mentioned it to him recently.

What he didn’t know (and couldn’t have known) was that Mrs T was sitting with her laptop on her knees looking at some photos… with her Mum. Mrs T’s not always one to look at emails the moment they arrive but for some reason she did on this occasion. She’s never hit delete so quickly! She’d not even read the email, but the letters “IVF” shone out like a beacon.

She’s pretty sure that Mum didn’t see. Well, she certainly didn’t say anything if she did.

We have lift-off

It looks like everything's in place for IVF. We had a letter from the hospital today to confirm that treatment could go ahead as early as March/April if we want it. We first have to make a "co-ordination" appointment at which I guess they'll go through all the technicalities with us in more detail.

Wish us luck!

Where would we be now, if ...?

February has arrived. If my calculations are right then we would be at about week 38/39 now had things not gone wrong back in week 7. I guess a lot would be very different. For starters, we'd not be able to be keeping it a secret any more. It's still odd sometimes to be holding onto this whole thing as a secret from all our family and all but a very few very close friends. (Especially when I reveal all about us here!)

We have spoken about whether we'll do things differently if we're lucky enough to become pregnant again. Mrs T thinks she'd probably be a bit more open next time.

We had a letter yesterday from the London hospital where we're being seen for IVF treatment. It doesn't say much, but does give a pretty good summary of the "story so far" and at least confirms that the wheels are in motion. (I think that funding is still technically to be approved pending the results of the HIV/hepatitis tests that the NHS have made us have.)

Not this time.

She was right, of course.

It was day 35 when I posted the last update, but on day 36 Mrs T phoned me at work to let me know we wouldn't be needing to buy a pregnancy testing kit.

An overdue wife

Hmm, According to my calculations, today is day 34 or even 35 and still no sign of Mrs T's period. Yet she is convinced she's not pregnant. I'm hoping otherwise.

If she is, the timing is extraordinary: I think it means we must have concieved on the day her Dad died. Of course, it could be the stress of it all that's making her late. (She's rarely this late, though.)

Long time since I was here.

I'm a pretty useless blogger, aren't I? It's ages since I posted here, and it feels like a fair bit's happened.

I'm probably too tired to update it now (and I'm trying to watch the telly!) but in summary, Mrs T was really upset when her period started last month, and I - being a man - didn't really notice and therefore we didn't talk about it. When we finally did, she said that when it started she felt she never wanted to make love again. I guess the cycle of build-up and disappointment is beginning to get heavier.

Thankfully we have made love since. A fertile time was approaching and we had to consciously decide to make love "because we both want too," rather than with any thought of pregnancy. We then went on do it every night for a while, so I guess it worked, but I'll admit some worries about next time she's due. I must be ready for whatever emotions are flung up this month. Of course I hope the emotions will be good ones.

"It'll be you next!"

It's funny how people say things. I was out without Mrs T last week with a group of friends who I've known for just over a year. One of them is expecting her third child within the next three weeks, and I happened to be sitting next to her during the meal. (We are the youngest two in this mixed group.) I was chatting about how things were going and how ready she and her husband felt and all the other small-talk one makes with a soon-to-be-mum, and at some point in the conversation she dropped in the line, "Well, it'll be you next". I smirked and raised my eyebrows as I tend to do when people speculate about whether we're planning a family; none of this group knows our secret. A few years ago my reaction would have been genuine. Now it is rehearsed. I smirked outwardly but grinned inwardly. Little do they know, I thought.

But it got me thinking: why do people say things like this? It could be so very insensitive. Imagine if I had burst into tears with "we've been trying for years". That would have surprised her!

Week 23?

I've spent some time recently reading blogs of other people hoping to conceive in similar circumstances. Well, I say similar - in fact they're mostly very different. There are some heartbreaking stories out there of still births and babies born who survived only minutes. They're very different from our story because to get that far through pregnancy, and to have to go through birth as well, it seems that you've already bonded with the child and see him or her as a person. Certainly in most of the blogs I've read recently (all, incidentally, written by the mothers concerned - although one has contributions from the father) talk of the child by name and some mention a funeral service of some sort. That really is a million miles from our experience. Mrs T miscarried at only 6 or 7 weeks and we feel we lost an embryo rather than a baby. It was a life - a human life - but not one which either of us felt we needed to grieve over. I'm sure many miscarriages that early happen without the woman ever knowing she was pregnant.

Another theme that crops up in the blogs I've been reading is that of thinking about how old the lost child would be now, and what he or she might be like. I'd not thought about before, but I just looked up our dates and see that Mrs T would be about 23 weeks pregnant now - about half way through - had things not gone wrong. According to the book we started reading that means that the foetus would be about 20cm long ("from head to bum"). It's not something I want to dwell on, and Mrs T certainly hasn't mentioned thinking about it. No - as far as I'm concerned, our first pregnancy failed. It's behind us and we can, to some extent, forget about it.

This may, of course, be very much a male perspective.