69 days after starting my injections - our scan at 7 weeks and 2 days arrived today.
Nothing can prepare you for when you hear bad news in the world of IVF. But there was nothing there. The 'twembryos', as Mr Emu had named them, weren't there. Just last night he'd gasped that they were now the size of raspberries. This morning, in a tiny room with the lights dimmed I heard him from across the room gasp as our consultant told us the bad news.
I'd worried about this day nearly every day since my BFP. And today we were faced with either a chemical pregnancy or a missed miscarriage. I was right to worry.
Nothing prepares you for seeing your partner in crime, and rock, cry when his mum texts to tell us to 'look after each other'. I always want him to cry; because I worry he just bottles emotions up. But when he does I want it to stop. I want to take the pain away. It makes me cry more. I'm mad with my stupid body; but I know if any woman on here put that I'd beg them not to blame themselves.
Every time I think I've run out of tears; I've not. Every time I think I can't smile or laugh; I can. Tonight we'll hold each other tight. "Not more tears!" Mr Emu will tease as he checks my eyes for leaks. Tomorrow we'll go to work and face as much as we can before heading home and probably claim we'd wished we'd stayed at home.
Gin! Yey! No pessaries! Yey! No baby! Crap.