7 on ice...that's a wrap, for now

There's a lot to update on this Monday.  I doubt I'll be as detailed now as I could have been in the moment but I'll sure as heck be funnier. 

So transfer didn't happen. 

We got the call Wednesday morning in the midst of pie making that our embryos were a bit pokey and wouldn't be ready for my transfer window.  It's absurd to me that the uterus basically has a three hour window and if they miss it, nothing will stand a chance of implanting anyway.  How does this even happen in normal bedrooms across the world?  I don't understand!

Thanksgiving morning came and went as we waited for the call with our final cryopreservation count.  We were fortunate: only one embryo arrested, leaving us with a total of 7 frosties.  Seven is a great number under normal circumstances and an exceptional one for ol' DOR me.  We did our best to be happy in the moment and believe me; we are happy, though I confess I am more relieved than anything else.  Happy would imply a finality and we still have so very far to go before I will ever be able to accept "happiness" without the stain of questions/frustration/what-ifs.  

We'll be doing a frozen embryo transfer sometime in January, as RMA closes the lab for two weeks in December for quarterly cleaning.  Such luck we have!  This is why we couldn't start a cycle until July, as ill-fated as that was, and now we hit the same delay 6 months later?   Any other time of year, I could have started prep immediately.  Unfair!

I almost wish I could say this was an elective break from IVF (are they ever though, really?) but instead I feel as though I'm just waiting for some undetermined point in January that is all dependent on some other person's schedule - which it kind of is - oh, and my stubborn menstrual cycle.  It has yet to make an appearance since I stopped all meds six days ago.  Tick tock, period.  Let's go. 

Then I came across this Motherlode post today from the NYT:
http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/11/26/taking-a-break-from-i-v-f/?sr c=recg

I'm a great admirer of her blog and was happy to find that what I'm feeling is shared by someone else.  I want to send this article to every relative who knows what we're going through, it so perfectly sums up my head space right now. 

I get it: we are supposed to embrace the silver lining. Yes, I'm thrilled I can exercise and make plans and attempt to be generally festive and normal (hopefully feeling like myself once all of these *&%$ing drugs are out of my system.) 

But it's hard.  It's hard confronting the holidays without even the hope of being pregnant.  Even though we're only approaching the second year in our IF journey, it feels like a decade has gone by with nothing to show for it.  Facebook is teeming with other peoples' cute kids and I just can't anymore.  I really don't go on except to post some humorous status update or silly Oscar photo (because he's the furry baby I have right now.) 

Could I be more positive?  Of course.  But that's generally not my outlook.  I am not Julie Andrews in "The Sound of Music" and I never will be.  I'm a cautious, skeptical Mr. Spock when it comes to IVF stuff.  Sure, there are times when it's easier than others to look around and be grateful for how well things have gone up to this point.  There are good days, bad days, days that seem to ramble on interminably and days that whip by because I spent the entire time doing housework or reading.  School ends tomorrow.  I am nowhere near finished but at least I don't have finals this time.   

For one thing, I can't wait to be around all of my cousins' children during the holidays but when I look at them, the longing returns.  The "I thought that would be us by now" feeling won't leave, even though I love those kids and would do anything for them.  The more time that goes by, the more I start to feel a little pang of regret that we didn't try earlier.  (Yes, I know we're not even married two years yet...I didn't say it was rational!)  Maybe then they would be closer in age, I tell myself.  

I just hate taking a break at the moment I least want to stop.  We were so close.  We will be close again, I know, but it doesn't much take away the sting of having to do my least favorite thing on the planet: be patient.