It was Tuesday and, unlike most Tuesdays, it was a very important day. My husband and I worked together to make sure that, with a little luck, there would be no hiccups. Hell, having spent some time finding a model with great reviews, we even bought a brand new telephone. We felt that a decent phone was high on our priority list. After all, we did want to be certain that, when it filled our living room, the sound of the doctor's voice would be crystal clear. We desperately hoped not to miss a single detail, no matter how small, as it could be the all important clue that we were searching for. My husband had the day off and stayed at home and I, as I usually did, woke up, got washed, dressed, ate my cereal and went out to the office. Work was the same as work always was, except, on this particular Tuesday, I took care to ensure everything would be finished on time. I was hopeful, and nervous too, but mainly hopeful.
In the afternoon, as I left the office, the sun was shining. It wasn't hazy, but instead, it had a brilliant radiance which illuminated the white clouds hanging against the sheer blue sky. I crossed the car park and my nerves started to jangle. Even though I am not superstitious, my heart still believes that bright sunny days bring good news, whilst bad things happen on cold dismal days. Oh dear, look at that, I've lost my thread again and got distracted by being all wordy. So, back to it, where was I? Ah, yes, it was Tuesday and the sun was shining. I had left work with time to spare but, as I drove past the same hospital I pass every day, the traffic slowed to a crawl and, with only five minutes until appointment time, I fielded a frantic "where are you?" call from my husband. After what felt like an age, the cars moved, I hurtled towards home and flung myself through the front door with 30 seconds to spare. Phew, I made it.
Then, as I plonked myself down on the sofa, I grappled with the new technology, dialled the number and waited for Mr T, our fertility specialist, to speak. And so began our first ever Why-The-Fail appointment.
Soon enough, the familiar Greek tones of Mr T came down the line and the conversation, after a few pleasantries, went like this:
Mr T: Your recent failed frozen embryo transfer was a very nice cycle.
Me: Oh, very nice?
Mr T: Yes. The embryos were of perfect quality and your uterine lining was fine.
Me: Oh, perfect quality?
Mr T: Yes. The transfer went well and there really weren't any concerns.
Me: Oh, anything else?
Mr T: No. You were just unlucky. It happens sometimes.
A million and one thoughts were whirring round and round in my head. I wanted to shout "If it was so perfect, then why didn't it work?" or "Can you please make sure my next perfect cycle doesn't fail?". I didn't shout, or say, or even whisper anything. He didn't have the answers I wanted and can't give me the guarantees I long for.
After giving us a few moments to digest the avalanche of information he had just thrown upon us, Mr T went over the plan for our next fresh IVF cycle. The entire call lasted, from hello all the way to goodbye, almost precisely, eight minutes.
So, once again, we've been hit with the unlucky stick - I do wish it would give us a rest for a while - but, very happily, we do have a new plan. Well, actually, it isn't a new plan at all. It is the very same plan as we had for our first IVF cycle. You know, the one that led to wonderful identical twin girls that didn't quite make it.