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We had the follow-up appointment with our RE yesterday. We were expecting some discussion about the miscarriage, a reassessment of protocol and a general good feeling – after all, we managed to get pregnant on our first complete IVF.  That’s good right?

Apparently not.

She told us she was sorry things didn’t work, I just wasn’t a good candidate for IVF and that unless I was ready to try donor eggs there wasn’t much else she could do for me. I was floored. Stunned. Crushed. I couldn’t even speak.  S told her that wasn’t what we were expecting, we weren’t ready to give up yet, after all it was our first real IVF cycle.  She said that, no, it was our 3rd cycle, I was a very poor responder and they couldn’t justify the risks of an egg retrieval and all the meds for so few follicles. She was very sorry and did we mind if she took this call from her daughter? She was clearly too busy to argue with us about my reproductive future. No time to discuss how all of my plans for children and a family, grandchildren for my mother, siblings for my step-daughter, were now in shambles. No time for that. As we were leaving she did mention that if we insisted on continuing we could see Dr. Schoolcraft at  CCRM in Denver. That she didn’t know how he did it but he had some success with “difficult” patients. Apparently I am now a “difficult” patient, a “very poor responder”.

I’ve been crying for almost 20 straight hours. At noon today I had to pick myself up off the floor, wash my face and put on my big girl pants to go have a meeting with my Ph.D advisor. Walking around at work I felt like I had to hold myself very, very still. Like if I moved too fast I’d lose the tenuous hold I had on my self-control. It’s like I’m made of delicate Venetian glass and if I move too fast I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.

I don’t know how to accept it. I don’t know how to bear this.

I never wanted a huge house. I never daydreamed about my wedding. I never worried about who I would marry. But I have been naming my children since I was 8 years old. I have imagined being pregnant a 1000 times. I have imagined what my babies would look like, how their fingers would be shaped, if they would have my smile. Since I met my husband I have spent at least some part of everyday daydreaming about our children – his nose with my hair? His height and my eyes? I have thought about what Christmas would be like, things I would do for birthdays.  And now that’s just gone?  Forever?

Would it be different if I hadn’t waited until I was 34 to start trying? Are my degrees, my career, worth not having kids?  I didn’t realize that was the deal I was making.  I thought I was being responsible, waiting til I was ready. What is the purpose of my life now?  Work?

And my husband. Oh god my husband. Because he choose to be with me he will never have more children, which he desperately wants. Because he picked me his life is less.

I can’t give my parents grandchildren. I can’t give my husband a child. I will never have a real family of my own.

I feel like such a failure.