I was so optimistic. Scarily so. My stims went fine, better than fine. I didn't bruise from the shots. I didn't feel strange or moody. It was empowering, actually, to finally be in control of this process. Each ultrasound progressed the way it should. My lining was fluffy and lush and receptive. My follicles grew at the same pace and size. The RE didn't have to change my meds.
Halloween - I was the only retrievee on the day of retrieval...all the attention from the doctors and nurses was on me. (E told me I should have dressed as a hen; the nurses swore they hadn't heard that one before.) The retrieval went fine. 14 eggs. The transfer three days later couldn't have been better; the RE said it was "perfect." An 8 cell and a very handsome 5 cell. I asked, because I had to, if this doesn't work, what will we do differently next time. The RE said "nothing, absolutely nothing," and gave us 50-50 odds. And I knew, I just knew, that it was going to work.
I didn't test at all during the two week wait. I figured that I would rather hear the bad news from a human rather than a glaring single line from a piece of plastic. But really, I knew it was going to work. I wanted to hear those words from a medical professional. We drove to the RE's office on a Wed. morning and I told E that I didn't feel pregnant. But in my heart, I knew I was, I felt it was to be.
I peed on a stick, stuck my arm out for the nurse to take blood and then we waited in a conference room, listening for footsteps. And I knew, the minute she walked in, that it wasn't. And other than, "I'm sorry," I didn't hear another word she said. E remembers hearing "the good news is that you have two frozen," but I don't. And I cried. I couldn't even wait to get to the car. I cried like my soul was breaking and my heart was torn apart. I cried in the car, I cried at home, I cried at work (why I went to work I don't know). And I'm tearing as I write this.
Because it's more than just a negative, it's like a death. And I'm still sad.