“I’m scratching my head at this one.”
This is what Dr. Salsa said when he called this afternoon to confirm the BFN. We make beautiful embryos, including one that made it to freeze – which for this clinic is apparently a big deal. I’m still (relatively) young. I responded well to the stims. Mr. X’s swimmers, while not particularly abundant, are good. So, he’s scratching his head at why it didn’t work and why I am – yet again – on the bad side of the statistics. I didn’t find his head-scratching particularly comforting either. It makes me feel all the more broken, especially when he mentioned that of those of us who had negative cycles, most were not a surprise (women in their 40s, etc). Me? I’m apparently a genuine medical mystery. Even with a 60% chance of getting knocked up, I still can’t seal the deal.
Personally, I would say that it was my old friend Luck. Or lack thereof. Shit happens. This was particularly expensive shit, but I know that I did everything I was supposed to do to make this work. So, while I am very, very disappointed and not a little sad, I have no guilt. For whatever reason those two little buggers decided not to stick around in the posh accommodations that I so thoughtfully (and at great expense) provided. Ungrateful brats.
On a slightly lighter note, thanks to everyone for your suggestions on what to do this weekend. I was particularly impressed that no one caved and used the dreaded ‘s’ word. I even warned Dr. Salsa not to use it and he obliged. It was the nicest ‘negative’ call I ever received. Once I’m ready, I am to follow up with him and the embryologist for the Failure Meeting. I think I need to do some boozing before then, though. Thank God I got Mr. X that margarita machine for Christmas!
I’m sure I will be pondering quite a lot over the next few days, but there is one question that is playing like a broken record right now:
Will it ever be our turn?