And right now, I’m choosing to hope like hell. I have to admit, it’s hard. Really hard.
I hope with all my heart that FET #3 is the one. I hope that my second opinions are for naught. I hope that I get to make my husband a father. I hope that one day I can look back on all of this and continue to be grateful for this experience. Grateful because it’s made the prize at the end that much more special. Grateful because without this journey, I’d be a different mother.
I hope the decision of how many embryos to put back this time is easy. I hope that my RE is assertive, for once, the day of the transfer. I found out from one of the nurses that he was upset that we changed our mind from three to two last time. If he feels so strongly about it, I need him to tell us that. Even though it’s our decision, he’s the expert.
I remember when were doing IUIs, refusing to number them. I didn’t ever want to say “IUI #1” because I had hope and because I didn’t want there to be an IUI #2, let alone #3 and #4. Now look at me. I’m about to embark on effing FET #3. This will be my 8th ART cycle within 14 months. Aren’t the odds supposed to be on my side by now? Aren’t you “supposed” to get pregnant after three IVF cycles? I guess I technically did with my lil ol’ blighted ovum, but since it didn’t stick I’m not really counting it.
I really hope this works for us. I hope with all my being.