If only wishes came true

Thank you all for your well wishes. I am finally starting to feel better, if not emotionally, at least physically. The pain from the procedure has finally started to go away, I can breathe easy, and am back at work thanks to running out of sick leave. My head is not in a good place right now, but I guess that is to be expected considering everything that has gone on this past week. I still can't believe that it is really over. No embryos, zero chance of falling pregnant from another cycle.

Even before this past weeks drama, I haven't been writing as much in my blog lately because, to be honest, I didn't really want to face reality. In your own head you can go around in circles and convince yourself that everything will be alright. Unfortunately when you write everything down on paper, you see it for what it actually is. So here goes.

I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. My husband has virtually no sperm motility and severe dna damage to his sperm. Our nine attempts at conceiving with assisted reproductive technology have resulted in five transfers, four negative results, three bouts of depression, two hospital stays and one miscarriage. Our last cycle resulted in no blastocysts, even though my engorged ovaries pumped out 33 - yes 33 - eggs. We have spent in excess of $25000 at last count on ART treatment. I have lost 20 kilos to be able to start IVF and have put back on 8 of those through hormones, not exercising through treatment cycles, and emotional binge eating.

It doesn't look particularly good. I really don't know how much more I can take. I know people get diagnosed with cancer, and have friends or family die. I know there are worse things in the world that can happen to me. The logical part of my brain says that many people deal with much worse everyday. But that logical part can't compete with the pain in my heart. The pain that makes me hurt when I see a newborn being cradled by its parents at the shopping centre. Or thinking that I should be 22 weeks pregnant with our baby girl Vanilla, showing off ultrasound photos and preparing the nursery.

The nursery that we painted before we even started trying to fall pregnant. It's pastel lime green - you know, the colour you can add hot pink to for a funky girls room, or add some blue for a super cool little boys room. With handmade bright blue curtains, made to blockout the sun, to ensure that the bubba would sleep okay, even if the sun was up. A complete matching linen set which I fell in love with, but was discontinued, so I traipsed over the whole of Perth collecting every spare set I could find - even the bumper which I wouldn't even be able to use for fear of SIDS. The cot and change table still in boxes. They still have the sale sticker on the side from May 2006 when we purchased them.

I walk into this room every day, to do my hair, grab my clothes from the wardrobe, and get ready to go to work. Each day I catch my eye in the wardrobe mirror and think about what could have been. What should have been. Which may never be.

I might never have a biological child of my own. I need to try and get my head (and heart) around that.