The Part of the Story Where I Wish There Was a Better Ending

Oh, how I wish I had better news for this post.  But sadly I don't.

To recap:

Two weeks ago Saturday, we had our retrieval.  We ended up with 8 eggs.
Good, not great, based on our doctor's predictions.
But I'll take it.

The next day we get a call from the nurse.  Six of the eggs were mature enough to fertilize.
Five of them take.
Five feels good....enough for multiple tries.
Maybe even multiple babies. 
(Oh, dare I hope?)

Lots of prayers are uttered on Sunday as we simply await Monday's transfer.
Lord, please protect our babies.

Bright and early Monday morning we make the 2 hour trek to our reproductive endocrinologist's office.
Our spirits are high and we're feeling hopeful.
We are prepped and brought into the transfer room.
The doctor comes in and tells us that only ONE embryo continued to develop through the night.  That the sperm was just "no good" this time around.
One.

We are disappointed and discouraged.
And yet, we have HOPE.
This one, sweet little embryo.
The doctor tells us that this little one is healthy and that we have a chance - about a 40% chance.

Forty percent is great in the fertility world.
In the real world though, it doesn't feel as great.
The big, gaping 60% is staring me right in the face.

But we're grateful for anything at all.
And we know that our God is a God of miracles.
That with Him, numbers and chance don't matter. 
"Insurance" of extra embryos means little.
It's all God.
We choose to hope for the best, knowing that we are in God's hands now.
That's a good place to be.

We spent the past two weeks waiting. 
Mostly we stay strong.
But as the day of the pregnancy test nears, I am feeling more discouraged.
Any symptoms of being pregnant (most likely brought on by the HCG shot in the first place) have disappeared.
I know there is still a chance, but I'm worried.

Today was the pregnancy test day.
I woke up to spotting.
My gut is telling me that it's just not going to happen this time.

I go ahead and get myself and the boy out of the house and over to the lab.
I cry all the way home.

We wait all day to hear from the nurse. 
I'm still spotting, and I know in my heart that I'm not going to hear happy news today.

I'm right. 
The nurse finally calls around 4 to let me know that the test results are negative.
And she's so very sorry.
So am I.

Then I have to break the news to the Mr. who arrives home from work shortly after.
He has a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and I know that he thinks that it was a good sign that I didn't call him earlier.
Like maybe I wanted to surprise him with good news.
I hate to be the one to give him the news that breaks his heart.
This sucks.

We decide we need a distraction, so we head out of the house for awhile. 
Treat ourselves to Cokes and greasy restaurant fare.
"Comfort food," we say.
But we both admit that we'd give up Coke for the rest of our lives, if we could have a baby.
The Mr. says he'd even give up his computer for the rest of his life in exchange for a baby.
And if you know him, that's really saying something.

There is grief and disappointment and frustration.
There's confusion and asking "Why?"
But there's also comfort in knowing that God holds our future in the palm of His hand.
We are grateful for friends that are lifting us up even as I type this.

The Mr. reminds me that we have so much to be thankful for.
And it's true.
We just wanted more.

So what's next?
We really don't know how to answer that question.
And that's okay, because we don't need to right now.

I hate to think about never using my baby clothes again,
or never having a chance to dust off the old baby swing.
My heart longs for more children to fill our home.
And yet I am eternally grateful for the one I have.

We'll see what God has in store.