Catalogue of Disasters

I was going to call this post “Comedy of Errors” but really – it wasn’t so funny. “Vale of Tears” might have been more fitting, albeit a little melodramatic.

It did not go well people. Not well at all.

For those that want details, read on, but be warned this is a whiny and self-indulgent post – I just need to get this out and move on.

As anticipated, our timing fears became reality at 6am on Saturday morning, when my monitor gave me the big egg a whole day early. May as well have been the big finger. Cue hysterical crying (both). A Saturday peak means a Monday insem – hardly ideal. I called the clinic at 7:30am to tell them and to get some kind of advice/reassurance on whether this was all going to be a waste of time. The nurse who answered the phone told me to come in at 10:15am on Monday for the IUI (WTF?!) and said curtly that she didn’t have time to answer any further questions now, though I could call back at 10:30am if I wished. I did, but only to be made to feel that my fears of wasting £830 on a pointless insem were ungrounded (the first woman they did this with got pregnant, so clearly I was just being neurotic) and that if I didn’t “feel comfortable” about it, I always had the option of cancelling treatment. Gee, and I thought she was going to help us make an informed decision.

Saturday night heralded crampy, gassy pains and I spent Sunday morning telling my aching ovaries to hold onto their eggs for a little longer. I did still have a strong second line on my pee stick, but that was of little comfort. We talked a lot on Sunday night about whether to go through with it or not and opted to do so, mainly for reasons unrelated to actually getting pregnant – “I can’t bear to wait another month”, “At least we’ll know what it’s like for when we get a decent shot at it.”, “It’ll help to break up the 4 weeks we’ll have to wait to try again.”, “It’ll help me eat healthy and stay off the booze.”, “I’m so tragically British, I’d feel rude letting the clinic down by cancelling at the last minute.”

Despite reaching a decision, pretty much all of Sunday night was spent tossing and turning, adding and subtracting both ££s and hours. At 6am we had another tearful meltdown and pretty much decided not to go through with it, before talking ourselves round again with the same foolish arguments.

And so we went, arriving embarrassingly early in the hope they’d take pity on us and shoot them up early. We sat there, bladders full – mine out of necessity and jay’s out of sympathy and solidarity, until past our allotted time, until finally someone happened along and asked us to step outside the waiting room. “Computer says no” she said (well, not exactly, but if you have ever watched Little Britain, you’ll get the idea). Apparently, we hadn’t settled our account. My arse we hadn’t! (Another UK comedy reference – 10 points to whoever gets it first).

A swift trip back down to reception to straighten things out and then we were finally ushered into the treatment room, only to be told that the sample they had thawed was not up to standard and that it would be an hour before they could prepare another one. At this point I quietly lost it completely and declared that I would just like to forget the whole thing, so not to bother, thanks. The nurse (luckily not the grumpy bitch from the earlier phone conversation) looked very concerned at this point and toddled off to get one of their biologists to discuss with me whether it really was worth going ahead or not (cue hollow laughter). After more flannel about how you never really know and stranger things have happened at sea, etc, she suggested that they do the first, sub standard vial now, followed by the second in an hours time at no extra charge. At this point I was struck with a genius idea – how about they do the first vial now, not charge us for it (the sperm that is), and forget about the second one. They bought it!

And so, game on again, they rushed the duff vial up to the treatment room and I stripped off. I should point out really that there was nothing actually wrong with the stuff, just not quite enough of it left after the wash and spin to meet their minimum standard (0.75 instead of 1.0 million per m/mol or somesuch). Out came the speculum, in went the catheter and then it was jay’s turn to lose it when the nurse refused to allow her to push the plunger, despite the consultant having said this would not be a problem. Her tears of anguish that this could possibly get any worse did the trick and Nurse Nice relented, leaving the last few millon in the tube for jay to send on their way.

From a purely nerdy science girl point of view, the process was interesting. I had no idea they shoved that tube so far inside! I’ve been a little crampy ever since, but the whole process was completely pain-free, infact barely uncomfortable, unlike poor old One of His Moms! Is this the point where I’m supposed to think myself lucky and count my blessings, etc?

So, in summary then, jay and I are feeling flat and miserable and hopeless and conned this cycle, but I take some solace in the fact that my quick thinking saved us almost £400, which is practically half the cost of the next try! If it hadn’t been our first attempt at the clinic, if we hadn’t anticipated it with such high hopes, if we hadn’t been forced out of the game for coming up to 5 months before this I don’t think we’d have done it. And believe me when I tell you that should I peak on a Saturday again, we’ll be cancelling that cycle in a heartbeat!

In the greater scheme of things, our long awaited and much anticipated first IUI may have been a complete pigs ear, but it’s not the end of the world and at least we get to try again next month without having to worry if the clinic is moving house or going on holiday or just doesn’t feel up to it. The disappointment, whilst bitter, is recognisably transient and temporary – I KNOW we’ll get another shot at this soon.

vee