When good eggs go bad

On my second day in hospital, I recieved my next piece of bad news via phone. It was the lab to let me know the progress of my embryos, or, as it turned out, lack there of.

Of my 12 fertilized eggs, the three day report that I had recieved over the weekend had me down to 5 which were progressing slower than usual – but usual for me. Now, on day 5 – freeze day, we only had 1 which was still alive. And it was still not to blastocyst stage. The lab tech said they would give it one more day to grow before freezing. I was absolutely devastated by this news. At this rate, it would take me a year and about $50 000 of out of pocket IVF procedures to even have enough blastocysts to warrant PGD testing. And even then, this was no guarantee that we would have an healthy one to use.

Now this is really not ideal news to get when you are sitting in a hospital bed and have been throwing your guts up for two days. I was an absolute mess. But things got even worse. The lab called again the next day to say the remaining blastocyst had died. And then there were none. Now, the slither of hope I had felt like it had been flushed down the toilet with what was left of my hospital lunch.

So I sat in my hospital bed for another night and day, researching everything I could think of, from success stories of women simialr to me, to donor eggs and even adoption. My husband hates when I do this, he thinks its pointless trying to make plans or think about the future until the doctors give you your options. He also thinks it makes me stress worse. He is probably right, but I’m a control freak, and I feel that the only thing I can do when I have no control is to at least arm myself with as much information as I can and mentally prepare myself for every possible situation.

By the morning of day four, I was so ready to go home. The attending doctor (also an obstetrician with my fertility clinic) came in to do my last exam before discharge. We talked about my epic failure of a cycle and the fact that my eggs looked as if they might be ‘bad’. He told me that they would be raising my case at the next clinic meeting. He also mentioned the donor egg option, and gave me plenty to think about before my appointment in two week’s time with the genetic counsellor.



Posted on April 5, 2014, in 2014 - The year of living uncomfortably. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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