My one on one affair with God yielded me more family pressure to continue the treatments, and not take a break. My husband called me on my way back from Shirdi and coaxed me into getting ready for our first Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET). I could sense that he had been persuaded by his family in my absence, but I was in no mood to argue. His strongest logic was that this would be our last try while we were still on 100% insurance coverage. Our insurance would end in October 2012, so I had to catch the train with the onset of my next menstrual cycle in August. Preparing for FET takes about a month, so it was a make or break situation.
Returning from a visit to one of the most talked about pilgrimages in India, I took this as a positive signal from God to move ahead. He could not be so harsh with me-perhaps this time it would all work out. Soon after I reached my brother-in-laws house, I announced that I had decided to go ahead with one more round of IVF. A wave of thrill ran in the family. I could still not make up my mind if I was really ready for another cycle. I was scared of yet another failure.
My husband was in touch with the nurses in Seattle and they asked him to inform them when my menstrual cycle began and get an ultrasound done. Life in the U.S. had made me too independent to handle my hospital visits and take care of my situation all by myself. Thus, being dependent on someone for an ultrasound visit in a totally unknown city felt like a big burden to me. As much as I disliked the idea of taking time away from the new parents, I had to rely on them for an ultrasound visit to the hospital. The reports were sent on mail to the doctor in Seattle.
Strangely enough, there was no sign of getting a cycle. I waited a few more days, and yet nothing. The nurses suggested that I take a shot of progesterone and wait until my periods arrived. Thus the quest for finding oil based progesterone began in the markets of Pune. We wandered from one medical shop to the other, but no one had heard of it. That made me realize that no matter how screwed the healthcare system is in the U.S., getting a medication had never been a problem. Finally we drove far to one of the best medical shops in the city. They did have progesterone, but not an oil based version. I bought whatever was available. I called the nurses back in Seattle and they weren’t sure if that is what I needed. I decided to go for it anyhow. Now the challenge was administering the injection. My husband & I had become pro in doing that after 2.5 years of practice, but an intramuscular shot called for help. I was taken to a local clinic at night to get the shot.
After 2 days, I started spotting, but a full fledged cycle was still missing. I traveled back to Delhi to get my visa stamped before I flew back home. The visa stamping office misplaced my passport and it was sent to a wrong address. In between Independence day holiday and other Indian festivals the passport office was mostly closed. All the delay in getting my passport would mean missing a FET cycle if I did not reach home in time.
With so many hindrances, I doubted if God was giving us a signal to revisit our decision. My passport and periods arrived just in time before I could change my mind. Upon reaching Seattle I spoke to the nurse to figure out how FET would be different from an IVF cycle. I was informed that FET would skip all the steps until embryo formation. I had some good quality embryos frozen from my incomplete IVF cycle. The doctor said that the success rate of implantation was still 60% given that I was under 35 years of age.
The medications to prepare the body for transfer began. I was scheduled for a transfer in September. With all the changes around me, one thing still remained unchanged- my chanting. I chanted without skipping a day. Finally the D Day arrived. We reached the hospital with our own share of anxiety. I was taken to the transfer room. This time I decided not to take anesthesia or Valium during transfer. I wanted to make sure that I was looking at the transfer on screen in the absence of my husband in the room. I had my doubts about the practice of this doctor and clinic, ever since he had encouraged Preimplantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) to determine the gender of the baby. When the anesthesiologist walked in, I refused to take any anesthesia. The nurses however convinced me that valium or anesthesia would not have any adverse effect. I really had no rebuttal other than the fact that I did not trust the doctor or the practice, but that could not be spoken out loud. So under the influence of anesthesia, the transfer happened. I was transferred to another room till I came back to senses, and as usual there were no pictures of transfer that were shared with us.
The 2 weeks wait began one more time. It was more torturous than ever, given that my HR management course was over. Thankfully I had found an internship to keep me occupied, but the office space called for taking stairs to the second floor of the building. Yes, there were no elevators. The boss wasn’t much cooperative either given that I wanted to work from home given my situation- so much for an unpaid internship. I carried on with the internship nonetheless fearing another failed cycle. At least the career could be a bit on track if all else failed.
My thoughts often drifted to what if this would be another failed cycle. I would consciously convert my negative thoughts to positive ones, but the fear and anxiety were formidable. History had taught me to be very cautiously optimistic and I was giving space to baseless superstitions. I promised God that I would refrain from doing a home pregnancy test on the 9th day and wait all 14 days. I would laugh at myself- if patience is what God was testing 9 to 14 days would make less of a difference given nearly 6 years of my fertility journey. I would sit back and think to myself when days had turned to weeks and weeks to months and months to years. Just thinking about it would make me feel so weary.
14 days passed. With a hope deep down inside that the visit to Shirdi would not fail me, I did a home pregnancy test (HPT) . The next five minutes of my life were the most desperate call to God to answer my prayers this time. I kept my eyes tightly shut and my mind focused on seeing a positive result for every second of those 5 minutes. With trembling hands, I picked up the HPT kit to see the results. BFN as they called it in fertility lingo- BIG FAT NEGATIVE. I could not believe God could be so hard hearted. I sat there and sobbed till my heart ached. There was nothing better I could do till He decided to pull the right strings on His puppet.
Stay tuned for the next obstacle in our journey.
