The Gut Punch

It’s a work day, and I’ve gone with a coworker to help pick up a print order and grab some lunch. He’s talking with the vendor when I get the call:

_________

Nurse: We’ve received the results of the genetic tests on your embryos, and, unfortunately, they’ve all come back abnormal. We’re so sorry. 

Me (pause, breathe): OK.

Nurse: Would you like to know what the abnormalities were?

Me: OK. 

Nurse: Two actually had the same abnormality – an additional chromosome 8 and a deletion on chromosome 11. The other one is missing a chromosome 15. 

Your doctor will be in touch to schedule your regroup appointment soon.

_________

I really don’t know what any of that meant. All I knew was everything we’d just been through had been for nothing. 

We went from nine embryos to five, then three, to none. What had gone wrong? Where the hell do we go from here? We literally put every last penny we had (and a good chunk we borrowed) to do this, and we have absolutely nothing to show for it?

Sometimes, it just feels like everything is completely stacked against you. Why can’t we just catch a break now and again?

I was able to hold myself together for a while. During lunch with my coworker, I acted as if nothing was wrong. (Maybe those years performing in high school musicals are finally paying off.)

Nick had to be the first person I shared the news with, but since he was working on third shift, he was at home sleeping. 

I texted him: “Call me when you wake up. Our embryo results are in.”

And then the floodgates opened. While I was at work. I managed to compose myself and then Nick called. The floodgates reopened. 

I went through a couple of cycles of getting my sh*t together and crying before I decided I had to talk to my boss. 

I walked into her office (still crying). I asked if I could finish the day from home, and she just told me to go home – don’t worry about submitting time – just go home and hug my dog. 

And that’s what I did. 

I told some family members, and when they called, the tears started anew. (What is it about talking with your loved ones that just makes you cry? I can have a stiff upper lip about a lot of things, but one hug from or conversation with my husband, mom, dad, or sister, and I turn into a blubbery mess.)

Before my sister called, Drea had told her not to be optimistic. This news really sucked, and sunshine and rainbows weren’t going to help right now. (Thank you, Drea!)

She’s right. Sometimes, things just majorly suck. You don’t want someone telling you it’s going to be OK, or that it’ll happen for you – they don’t know that, and they can’t know that.

You don’t want someone sharing their own story about their struggle – it’s likely very different from your own and maybe not even relevant. 

And you don’t need someone to tell you to pray harder. (Personally, my view of God isn’t as a wish granter up in the sky but that’s another blog for another time.)

You just need to hear that what happened is the absolute worst, and they are so very sorry.

A couple days after the gut punch, Dr. G. called to give her condolences. I was very appreciative of this call. I hadn’t had the warmest feelings toward her after the whole IUI debacle, but I didn’t want to switch physicians and potentially delay our IVF cycle. 

We ended the call on the note that Nick and I would schedule a regroup appointment with her to discuss the results of our embryos’ analysis.