You’re given a photograph of the embryo they put back into your uterus. A little blob containing lots of other little blobs. That’s the hope.
Then you wait…
We had a trip booked to Paris for a few days over the period that I was due to go back for my pregnancy test so, instead of cancelling, I packed several tests in my suitcase and put it to the back of my mind.
2 days prior to my pregnancy test day I was starting to get a little apprehensive. Do I take an early test or do I wait? Being the impatient person I am, I couldn’t wait, so I nervously dashed to the chemist for a Clear Blue early test, the day of our trip to Paris.
At this point, almost 3 years into our journey to parenthood, I was a pro at taking a pregnancy test. Waiting patiently for the ‘Not pregnant’ symbol to appear like it always had done, I was blown away by what we saw next.
It was early. It was 1 test. I wasn’t believing it but that little bit of hope was starting to grow. Off we went to Paris.
The next morning, in the Air BnB in Paris, I took the other in the pack of Clear Blue tests and waited…
It was still a day before I was supposed to go to into the clinic for my official test but this was the moment that my hope gained momentum. Also the day we were going to Disneyland – no rides for me, just waiting in the queue and disappearing through the exit to watch my husband enjoy the adrenaline rush. I didn’t mind one bit. That feeling that this might actually be it meant I could watch him all go through the single-riders queue all day long.
The morning of my proper test day I (with more confidence than trepidation) took the little cassette-looking test that the clinic had provided.
Confusion, worry, nervousness, still hope. The Clear Blue was more accurate, wasn’t it?
Next day… Not pregnant.
More confusion, more worry, more nervousness, hope diminishing. We returned from Paris in a different mood than we set off.
The day after we went to the clinic together for the official blood test. The look on the nurse’s face when I told her about the tests told me that this wasn’t going to be a day of celebration, however my husband was still optimistic. The wait between the 8am blood test and the 1.30pm results was one I hadn’t prepared myself for, I expected a negative, whereas he thought positive.
Not pregnant. We were crushed.
We’re still not sure whether the embryo implanted successfully to begin with but didn’t survive or if it was the hormones that caused problems with the first tests.
Picking him up when he broke down is single-handedly the most difficult thing I have ever done.