The IVF clinic called: “You’re pregnant”
The name of the fertility clinic lit up my screen as the phone vibrated on my desk.
Sixteen minutes earlier than anticipated.
“We usually call the pregnancy blood test patients first because you’re the most eager. Around 1pm.”
Today, that person was me.
Earlier that morning, a student nurse drew blood from my arm while another nurse distracted me with conversation. Aside from a few experimental vein taps in places where blood probably shouldn’t be drawn from, the student did a good job.
At 12:44pm, ironically, it was the same nurse who once made blood spurt dramatically out of a vein who called to give me the news.
She was laughing when I answered.
Given the solemn tone of previous pregnancy blood test calls, I took this to be a good sign.
These were my pregnancy blood test results after my third frozen embryo transfer (FET).
Progesterone: 45.7 (Looking for above 30)
hCG: 520 (Looking for above 100)
“You’re pregnant.”
Omg. Omg. Omg. Omg. Omg. This can’t be real? The result I had waited for since Lark was 12 months old, when I knew I was ready to give her a sibling. Ready to turn our trio into a quartet. Ready.
Hot tears pricked my eyes as I immediately began asking approximately one million questions to confirm I had heard her correctly.
After three hysteroscopies, three egg collections, and three FETs in twelve months, it finally happened.
Confirmation that my Stage 3 Asherman’s uterus is capable of getting pregnant.
The same uterus that looks like a champion rally car.
What a relief.
All it took was a multidisciplinary support team spanning medical, psychological, and spiritual care to drag me over the line.
What changed to make the third time a charm?
Three things were different this time: the transfer happened in the cycle immediately following my hysteroscopy, we had a 5BB PGT-A embryo ready to go, and my protocol changed from a stimulated natural cycle to an HRT cycle.
And I saw a psychic medium the day before transfer who was adamant that a little baby boy spirit was ready for me. My body was ready, but my mind was not. A year earlier, my mind was ready but my body was not. Somewhere in the process of getting my body ready, my mind hardened to protect my soul.
This time I listened to the signs, surrendered my protective ego, and let myself accept how much I truly want to raise this little boy I can see snuggled into my left side, while my lion cub snuggled into my right*.
I bought him an outfit. Took him to watch The Devil Wears Prada.
And spoke to him about how much I wanted to have a relationship with him, guide him through life, proudly watch him sparkle.
I want you to want me.
Let’s do this life together.
*Oddly, while meditating at the foreshore of Peacock Point Reserve in Balmain, I saw a third little one snuggled in beside him on my left side. I’m 41, I have a smashed uterus, and there is no way I’m going through everything needed to fall pregnant again.
More real life stories for the Boo Crew
