For almost 5 years now, we've been trying to grow our family, and this past month we got the closest we've been so far. Handfuls of pills, dozens of injections, and half dozen round trips to San Francisco and back, but a few days ago, we got the devastating news that our transfer didn't succeed.
it doesn't mean never, just not this time around. But I'd be lying if we weren't double crushed to have the tough news coincide with Father's Day. The cycle started on Mother's Day, and we hoped that was a good sign from the universe - start on Mother's Day, get our positive result on Father's Day.
I don't know who of the three of us has been more heartbroken this week, because the sadness is tremendous and immeasurable. I'm proud of Noah, whose first response was to hug me and cry, and whose second response was to see if his therapist had any same-day appointments so he could talk to someone right away, because the feelings were bigger than we could handle on our own. And I'm so incredibly in love with my husband Daniel, who is already an amazing father to Noah, and who was here for all the procedures and most of the doctor visits, but he's back in Colorado for work right now and processing this update alone, except for phone calls and video chats.
It sucks and it hurts and it's awful and about ten million other feelings across a wide spectrum of reactions.
At the embryo transfer, Noah watched on the projected screen, and started crying, saying with such relief and excitement, "I'm a brother! I'm finally a brother!" After hearing that the transfer failed, he lit a yahrzeit candle.
There's a tremendous guilt I am carrying for the sadness this has brought to our whole family, and I'm trying my best not to collapse under the burden of responsibility.
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