Some days I wish I could go back to September 2017 and tell myself not to cling to hope. To tell myself that this journey is going to suck beyond belief. That you will put all of this work in to end up with empty arms, just like you did before. You my dear girl, your heart will be broken again.
Yet I can’t. Because 2017 me was so full of hope and faith. Her heart though broken still beat with courage and strength. She believed deeply in the process and had her eyes set on the prize. For her sanity she broken it down into pieces, first eggs, then embryos, then transfer, and finally a baby. The first two parts were easy for her to digest. 15 eggs brought her 3 quality embryos. Those embryos meant the world to her and she was certain she would transfer two and she did. Those two ended with one baby. One baby whose heart beat stronger every day until there was silence. Her world just like before crashed around her with the words “there is no heart beat.” At that moment she was done trying. Her heart couldn’t take anymore. She had given three babies back to God.
Little by Little and day by day she grew stronger and her heart started to look to Embryo #3. She knew if she didn’t go for it, she would always wonder “what could have been.” With withered strength and threadbare hope, she decided to move forward.
Forward with shattered hope. In March I was certain that I could not bare going through a transfer again, yet I am stronger than I think. Yesterday I put the ball in motion. The clinic was so glad to hear from me (I’m sure they say that to everyone). Dr. B has formulated a plan, we are not messing around this time. Workup in July, dilation surgery in August, and with a little luck a transfer in September.
September, Emmet was due in September. I just pray it doesn’t end up being on the 23rd, Emmet’s due date. Then again maybe September will be our lucky month and this one I will get to keep.

As the blizzard poured down around me I looked out the window and remembered that the doctor said Snow Pea’s results would be in on Friday. Friday went without word, so I logged in to my online chart, “1 new message” it said. I held my breath, my heart raced, I knew what the message was. It was the answer, the answer that Jay and I had been waiting for. It took a while for the words to sink in, “normal (46 chromosomes) XY.”
As I walked through the skyway my phone rang. It was a number I have seen hundred of time and I instantly answered with worried hope. It was Park Nicollet, the genetic counselor was calling me to go over my test results. She informed me in a cheery voice that I was genetically normal, I have no deletions or translocations, my chromosomes are perfect. She went on to say that Jay was perfectly normal too and that our risk for an abnormal embryo is .00004%. Which means Jay and I are capable of creating normal embryos and I should be carrying a baby to term. Which is maddening because our baby died. We put two embryos in and only got one very wanted baby.
A week from today I was going to share our pregnancy news with everyone. I had plans of taking a photo of a onesie that said “my first baby sitter was an embryologist” surrounded by all of the needles used during IVF. This would have been a striking photo to prove to the world that against all odds, we persisted. That photo has yet to be taken, it’s just an idea that will never come to be.



