For the last day or so I’ve felt neither here nor there. Kind of a zen-like calm of not-knowing. There’s nothing I can do, either this works or it doesn’t. I feel like I’m ready for either outcome. That doesn’t stop the nervousness of waiting for the call though. After an early start to get to my blood test by 7:30am the hours before the results come through are fraught with willing my phone to ring.
My husband and I have both taken the day off work to try and reduce the stress so, post-blood draw, head out to a delicious breakfast (white truffle scrambled eggs on brioche with smoked salmon and avocado puree for me, mmmmm). Then it’s off for a quick acupuncture session before heading home to twiddle our thumbs. After an hour or so I can’t handle it anymore, I need to do something. I’m either sick of putting our life on hold for this or just to antsy to sit still, maybe a bit of both.
We truck off to the plant store to buy some new plants for our vegie garden, it is spring after all, the season of new life; and cruise to my Mum’s house to farewell my sister who, very luckily, is heading off on a school trip to Europe for two weeks (never did that in my day! Haha). That’s when the call comes. Eek.
It’s all very jovial at first, yes, I’m sounding much better than I did the other day (when I could hardly talk and the nurse could hardly understand me); yes, now’s a good time for the results aaaannnnnnddd……..they’re negative. No baby Bumble for us this time around. Again. Our one little fighter wasn’t much of a fighter after all, or perhaps just wasn’t ENOUGH of a fighter, it was dealing with my body after all – the almighty egg/embryo killer.
The scary thing about this is, I feel fine. I don’t feel much different to how I felt yesterday, or three months ago. I guess I must be getting used to this or something, this endless disappointment, or maybe it’s just that I’m a reflector and it will all hit me later when I least expect it. My hubby doesn’t fare quite so well, this hits him, hard. Much worse than any of our other cycles, he’s down and I feel bad that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make him feel better. Talk about the ultimate role reversal, we’ve both done a complete 180 on how we normally react to these things.
So now to break the news to our donor. Standing in Mum’s garage, where we’ve gone to hide to take the call, I send her a text, hardly knowing what to say. Then we’re off inside to tell my family, and send out the texts to let other people know. It’s a weird feeling but it’s nice not to be in limbo any more. We have a result and we need to focus on the next steps. Mum and I pour a glass of wine and I’m tiddly after just a few sips, talk about a cheap drunk!
So what so we do from here. Well, we farewell my sister, and go home to rip weeds from the garden of course. Nothing like killing a few obnoxious plants (or more than a few in our poor neglected garden’s case) to feel better. It’s extremely therapeutic. And the future? Well, we’ll just have to see. We’ve toyed with the idea of heading to the States for treatment but haven’t ruled out another NZ donor egg cycle either. I’m just not planning on sitting around waiting anymore. It’s time to really take charge of this shit and bring Bumble home.