On Wednesday, I got the call I was dreading. Our doctor called to let us know that the fertility lab was closing until further notice. All patients, whether they are pre- or mid-cycle, were to stop fertility treatments until the spread of COVID-19 is contained and the madness this virus has created is under control. We were three days into our Lupron injections, and we were two days away from starting the Estrace pills… The transfer was only three weeks away. And although the days seemed to move so much more slowly in the days since COVID-19 started taking over the news cycle, three weeks really isn’t that long of a wait.
It was heartbreaking. Throughout the phone call, I was calm, cool, and collected.
“Yes, I’m disappointed, but what are you going to do? It is what it is, and we’ll hope everything clears up sooner rather than later!”
”No, no… it’s alright… it’ll be alright. We’ll start up again as soon as this is over!”
And lots of other statements punctuated by exclamation points.
After I hung up the phone, it all came tumbling down. The teeny, tiny, wall of hope that I had finally allowed myself to build up ever so cautiously started rumbling. Cracks started to form and run in every which way, and the rubble started to fall one by one. Everything until now seemed to be going so well; everything seemed to follow the schedule set by our doctor. And now…
Yes, our embryos are still safely frozen at the lab, and, God willing, nothing will happen to them until we’re ready for the transfer.
Yes, women these days are giving birth into their early forties, so I still have “plenty of time”.
Yes, given the current situation, it’s probably better for us in the long run since no one knows the full impact of this virus on pregnant women and newborns.
But you know what? Unless you’ve been trying for five years, gone through a surgery, three IUIs, and was almost through your first IVF then cut off because of events outside of your control…
I don’t want to hear it.