Our story began in the summer of 2003 when we got married and decided to try for a baby straight away. We knew that there might be a problem following an operation I’d had as a child. After a year of nothing happening we went to see our GP. She arranged several blood tests for my wife which didn’t show up any problems, and so arranged for me to provide a semen sample at home, which I then had to take to our local hospital. I didn’t do the sample straight away, apart from the indignity of it all (something I was to get used to), I suppose I thought that either all would be OK in which we just had to keep trying. Alternatively it would be negative, in which case there was no particular rush anyway. Well it seemed logical at the time!
I was called back to the GP to get the results a week or so later. She showed me the piece of paper from the hospital, which said “no sperm seen”. It all sounded so final, so definitive. She said she was referring us to the OFU and there were “things they could do”, but I couldn’t really square that with the test results – all it could think about was those 3 words “no sperm seen”.
After what seemed like months of waiting we finally got an appointment with a doctor at the OFU. He said our only chance was through ICSI, and that I could come back and give a semen sample in the unit which they would look at to see if they could find any sperm, with just a 10% chance of success or go for surgical retrieval with a 50% chance of success. I think he expected me to say that I would go straight for surgical retrieval but I decided the extra £120 or so to try without surgery first was money well spent, even though I would definitely have gone through surgery and a lot else besides if that was our only chance of parenthood.
We got the results back by post a couple of weeks later. The letter was quite matter of fact, almost apologetic in tone, but was our first breakthrough – they had found some sperm. They wanted us to proceed with ICSI treatment. It was the moment we had been waiting for, it seemed like it was coming together for us at long last. Surely it meant that all we had to do was to go through enough ICSI cycles until it worked? It seemed so simple - given enough time and money the chances were that we would succeed eventually. Little did we know that fate was shortly to deal us another blow.
Our first cycle commenced a few months afterwards. I’d had to provide extra samples to be frozen just in case it was needed on the day. The egg retrieval was performed, there were less eggs than we had hoped for, but nevertheless sufficient for ICSI. We booked a day off for the transfer two days later but received a devastating phone call the day before. It seemed that none of our embryos had matured and there was to be no transfer. A terrible moment for us.
We were called back to see a doctor on the unit a few weeks later. He suggested another cycle on the maximum drug dosage to get a better picture. The cycle produced better results in terms of the numbers of matured embryos, but sadly didn’t result in a pregnancy. Another low point.
We considered telling our parents what we were doing, we had decided not to up until that point, but felt that the emotional support would have been very beneficial, as no one apart from the two of us knew about the turmoil we were going through. In the end we decided not to, and looking back this was the right decision. I remember one of our neighbours describing another neighbour’s child as an “IVF child”. It seemed a strange thing to say, as if that somehow defined the child, or was in someway important to the child’s make up. We realised why they had innocently said what they did, of course, but we decided at that point that if we were successful with our own eggs and sperm that we would not tell anyone about the method of conception. After all, from conception onwards there is no difference to the pregnancy medically, morally or statistically. It would have been different if we’d used donor eggs or sperm, as this would affect the genetic make up of the child and it would only be right to tell the child the appropriate time and also all his/her relatives (who would have had a different genetic relationship).
We were called back again to see the doctor. We expected the doctor to say something like “bad luck, better luck on your next cycle”. Instead he had some unexpectedly bad news (again) as it seemed that our eggs were of relatively low quality. He suggested considering donor eggs, though said he would support us through another cycle if we wanted. My wife, always the impulsive one, wanted to go straight for that, but I felt that we should give it one more go before going down the donor route. After all we had only had one complete cycle and I didn’t want to spend the rest of our lives regretting not trying for a second complete cycle. We were given an appointment with the counsellor and decided to try one more time.
The embryo transfer happened on my wife’s birthday, I remember telling the doctor that we were hoping he was going to bring the best birthday present ever. Shortly afterwards the embryologist said that one of the embryo we’d got was a grade A, things were definitely looking up ! Two weeks later, after a sleepless night, Charlotte used the pregnancy test that the OFU had given us. Unbelievably it was showing two blue lines. The second was faint but definitely there. Could this be the news we’d been dreaming of for so long ? I’d bought a 2nd test kit for this eventuality and we used that just to make sure. There were definitely 2 lines there, it was happening for us at long last, though it hardly seemed real. We phoned up the JR and they booked us in for a scan, this time on my birthday. We could definitely see a baby with a strong heartbeat. Charlotte was pregnant ! Even saying those words sounded so fabulous.
It was an amazing weekend, though once the reality has set in you suddenly realise that this only puts you in the starting position of someone who has conceived naturally and there are still a host of other possible problems ahead.
However I’m writing this after exactly 12 weeks pregnancy, the point where the chances of a miscarriage considerably reduce. We had a nuchal scan this morning for Downs Syndrome and other abnormalities, which came up clear. Tomorrow we’re off to the inlaws to tell them our news.
Looking back on the last 3 years or so it has been a huge emotional rollercoaster, far more than we had ever imagined, but ultimately for us worth it, of course. No books, newsletter articles or doctors can really prepare you for the ups and downs. Although we’re not completely there yet, we realise just how lucky we have been and how easily it could have turned out so differently. We’re just so grateful to medical science and the staff at the OFU for giving us this chance.
John
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