I secretly named my 3rd and 4th embryos 'Caesar and Destiny'. But shh, don't tell hubby.

Who knew: Having to relax can be such a stressful affair!

After my womb lining measurement reached 8.1mm last Friday, I was scheduled for the embryo transfer to be done on Tuesday 26 May.

The whole apprehension and uncertainty is such an ordeal. In order for the implantation to work, I'm supposed to relax, be happy, and not feel stressed. Stress apparently causes the womb to contract. Hearing that totally stressed me out.

While I had been really hopeful with my previous transfer, and had felt really positive that it would work; I am now like a deer caught in headlights. I am so terrified of going through the depressive suicidal state again should this transfer fail.

This embryo implantation also comes smack in the middle of a major work project. But while I have to withdraw from it, I cannot not think about it.

So after pushing myself to finish as much work as I could on Monday night (morning? I stopped only at 2am), I got up all exhausted on Tuesday morning, and was embarrassingly late for 45 minutes. But that meant I didn't have to wait so long this time. During the first embryo transfer, I waited for close to 2 hours despite having an appointment. This time, I only waited for half an hour. Perks of being late.

Hubby and I were shuffled into a smaller room this time. It was so much less intimidating here. While the main operating theatre was a Cleanroom, this felt more like a dentist's room. Hubby and I didn't have to wear the elaborate gown here. In fact, the doctor didn't wear his gown either.

I almost became the first human to die from holding in a bursting bladder. After the nurse allowed me to sneak a leak, Dr. Chan arrived. He looked a little disapproving that my bladder was not as full as it should be, but it seemed full enough for the procedure. So after a really short chat with the doctor, the bunch of them started to fuss over my vagina. Dr Chan, Dr Liu, the nurse Grace and the embryologist busied themselves with putting the apparatus into me.

Halfway through, another doctor that hubby and I secretly nicknamed (in good nature!) the 'Zombie doctor' appeared out of nowhere and observed my vagina being invaded.

It was less painful this time. But I was mentally drained. Hubby forbade me from naming these 2 embryos (Caesar and Destiny); a 3-cell and a 4-cell. They're graded 2 and 3 respectively. Not the best. But I gotta relax and believe it'll work.

The doctor gave me 5 days hospitalisation leave this time so I can, you know, go shopping and relax.

Yes, the doctor ordered me to go shopping; I am officially prescribed with retail therapy.

So after bawling at the Goddess of Menstruation to hurry it up and give me closure from the negative pregnancy test, I received a big one. I was spared an extended uncertain wait for the period, but was rendered almost comatose for a couple of days by the excruciating cramps as Alice and Bach bled out.

On retrospect, my emotional meltdown the few days after the pregnancy test was probably a double whammy of the despair at the negative blood test and PMS on overdrive. I was wedged in a deep dark crevasse of depression as I struggled to carry out my work. I had insane images of myself leaping off the ledge of my apartment's yard. I saw myself running into oncoming cars for a messy end. I was a total wreck, and desperately looked for extreme methods to derail my tears in between work while hubby coped by pretending he didn't notice the emotional unstable zombie that I've temporarily turned into.

I wanted so badly for someone to reach out and save me. But I was so alone with the darkness inside me those few days. There was a moment when I stood in my kitchen in the middle of the night after wrecking sobs chased me out of bed. I stared into nothingness and my head pounded; screamed at me to just die. All was black and I was nowhere. Then, something soft and warm touched my right hand. My senses returned as I looked down at the huge pair of blue eyes looking up at me in concern, letting out a soft meow. The cat had climbed onto the stool beside me to rub her furry little head against my hand. She danced around me like a little ballerina anchor, tugging me back. After awhile, perhaps satisfied that I'm not reaching for the knife or something, she sashayed off.

When I finally went back to bed, she hopped up and snuggled in at my feet.

Sanity washed over me only after I started to bleed the next day.

Times like this where I become a completely helpless emotional slave to my hormones, I really hate being the woman. I never want to experience that again.

And now, I'm in the interim before the next Thaw Cycle. After the intense hormonal meltdown last week, the progynova I'm taking now can hardly do any mischief to my mood.

The next womb lining measurement is tomorrow. Our last 2 embryos from the previous harvest waits...

Moral of the story: Cats are awesome. Or maybe mine just wanted food that night.

Black Widow: A victim of Reverse-Sexism imposed by the crazy feminists.

Marvel's Avengers: Age Of Ultron. I watched that movie on Day 10 of my 2 weeks wait after the embryo transfer of my IVF cycle. The movie was entertaining, much better than the first Avengers movie; but still laced with lots of cheesy cringe-worthy dialogue. To me, it was just another testosterone-heavy Hollywood block buster. Thank goodness for Black Widow kicking ass on God-level even though she's just a mere mortal assassin.

Fast forward a week. I went for the pregnancy blood test crossing my fingers for the embryo transfer to have worked. It was negative and my world came crashing down. Again.

Still reeling from the frustration and emotional exhaustion and not quite having come to terms that I needed to do the IVF cycle again, I wander aimlessly on the internet and stumbled upon a rabid nest of militant feminists who are RAGING because Black Widow in the Age Of Ultron movie is sad that she can't have kids.

While I was puzzling over logical fallacies when watching the movie (that table could handle the weight of Thor's hammer. Is it worthy?), some other women were furious over Black Widow embracing her gender's baggage.

Reading all the hate from these awful feminists made me cry all over again. What is their problem? Why are they trivialising a woman's inability to conceive? These are self-righteous women who have never had to fight infertility while wanting kids with the man they love. Let me say this: Women who have NOT personally experienced infertility first hand have NO IDEA what kind of hell this is.

And no, first hand is not hearing all about it from 'my sister', 'my cousin', or 'my colleague's sister's best friend's classmate'. First hand is YOU having to face the dark chasm alone. All alone. If you have never worn this pair of shoes, you have no right to assume a breezy self-righteous attitude towards another woman's infertility.

For the record, I think it's lame that the Final Test in the Red Room to being an assassin is to get sterilised. But if we're going to work with that premise, then yes; As someone fighting infertility right now, I find it entirely plausible for a female mortal character; whether or not she's a kickass assassin / spy whatsoever; to get emotional over a barren womb while facing the man she loves and wants to run away with. It makes the character a believable human being and not the plastic action figure that the militant feminists so desperately want.

Also, why did nobody carve out a slice of beef when the Hulk said essentially the exact same thing as Black Widow? If I remember correctly, he said something like "I can't ever have kids! Do the math!" in an equally frustrated way.

So it's ok when a man is sad about infertility but not ok when it's a woman who bemoans it? So I can't want a baby very much more than a man because I'm in an age where men and women NEED to enjoy emotional equality even though our hormonal construct is so very different?

What is this, some kind of 'Reverse-Sexism'??

For example, there's this self-proclaimed disappointed feminist fan of Joss Whedon, Sara Stewart who tried to be passive but in between the lines sounded like a desperate girl who just wants her lady balls stroked.

"..OK, but either of those characters (Jane Foster and Pepper Potts) would really have upped the quotient of substantive females onscreen in this nearly two-and-a-half-hour sausage-fest. Seriously, you couldn't get Gwyneth or Natalie for a couple days?"

Seriously, if you want girl power, go watch another movie. Like Hunger Games. Or Divergent. Or one of those female empowerment movies that's so popular nowadays. If you're subscribing to the Marvel franchise, then KNOW before you go that you're signing up for a sausage fest, and quit bitching about it.


Firstly, what in heaven's name is wrong with a woman being pregnant?? Why are some feminists so uncomfortable with the fact that we are the birthing gender that they reject ALL sorts of pregnant imagery and birthing references on the big screen? That's Reverse-Sexism right there!

The introduction of Hawkeye's preggie wife was obviously the lead-up to the conversation between Hulk and Black Widow. A contrast of their desired 'normal' family life as opposed to the cursed one that the superheroes have to live with; the unwanted weight of the world on their shoulders and the moral inability to 'run away' and settle down.

The housewife beef I can relate to. The man brings home the bread; the woman cooks and takes care of the kids. Yeah, I have a problem with that gender role stereotype which I despise too.

But here's the reality: I know lots of housewives; who prefer to call themselves Stay-At-Home-Moms, or SAHM for short; who would be seriously offended that the SAHM life they chose for themselves is viewed as 'reductive gender shit'. I'd so love to throw Sara and a couple of my more vocal SAHM friends into the same ring and watch them claw it out (wonder what kind of dark fate would've befallen me if I'm a man who says this).

More whining from Sara: "And Claudia Kim plays Dr. Helen Cho, who can apparently do brilliant things with genetics but mostly just gets mind-warped by the villainous Ultron and, later, beaten up by him."

Now look here, EVERYBODY got mind-warped in the movie by Scarlet witch, but Sara only complained about Helen Cho. Why? Because the one who did the mind-warping was the guy? May I remind that the primary arc in the first Avengers movie was Hawkeye getting major mind-warped by Loki. A man who got mind-warped by another man. Why don't somebody go pick on that. And Ultron was beating up every other living thing that pisses him off in his path without prejudice. But for some reason, Sara only saw Helen The Woman.


When I call myself a feminist, I fancy myself someone who believes in reasonable equal social rights between the gender.

Reasonable here means within our gender's different physical and hormonal limit.

For most of my adult life, I struggle against unreasonable cultural expectations and oppression of my gender. The last thing I need is this crazy feminists' brand of 'Reverse-Sexism' thing taking off.

So it's been 4 days since I was doused with the bucket of cold "You are not pregnant at all". And the period is still not here.

I'm going nuts. Period's almost 2 weeks late, and there are no PMS symptoms at all. I trust the pregnancy blood test completely, but the glimmering spark of hopeful "What if the test was wrong" is getting brighter.

I wish the hospital had some kind of FAQ regarding this.
So I googled the odds. Lots of accounts of women with negative tests months into their pregnancies. My light of hope burnt brighter. But then, I streamlined the search to just the IVF ones. It seems the progesterone delays the period. Some women had delayed periods of up to 3 weeks after a failed cycle, attributed to the progesterone.

I'm laughing and crying at the same time. Oh what have I done to deserve this?! I kept recalling the day of the fresh transfer that didn't happen, and remember how confident the doctor was that the fresh embryos would have worked. But we couldn't do the fresh cycle because I was assaulted with OHSS.

And now after all the trauma, I have to wait weeks to get closure from this cycle in the form of my usual incapacitating period that I hate so much. Why am I being punished for being the woman?
And what if the test was wrong? What if it had all worked after all?

I feel so lonely in this chasm of delirium. Somebody please save me.

I wish I was a cat instead.

Not. Fair.

Charlotte was the number 2 name on our baby girl name list if we ever get a girl. I liked the old world charm of the timeless-sounding name; albeit a bit too country.

But now, thanks to some royalty a couple of continents away, we gotta strike Charlotte out. Why? Because the planet is going to suddenly get an overpopulation of Charlottes. And I'm not going to have people think I named my kid after some former colonial master's princess.

When news of Prince William and Kate Middleton's baby girl first popped out and the bookmakers were guessing Diana, Charlotte, Elizabeth, Victoria, whatever.. I was going please please please don't choose Charlotte.

And they had to go choose Charlotte.

In fact, to make sure that nobody loses any money, they swept the entire combo meal: 'Charlotte Elizabeth Diana'. And for some reason, that part of the world is just weeping over aww how beautiful a tribute that name is. Nobody's bothered about poor Victoria who got left out of the party. Although I don't understand why they couldn't have just added Victoria to the collection while they were at it. "Charlotte Elizabeth Diana Victoria Etc."

Speaking of which, do the British Royalty have a family name? I must have missed it for the past 30 years.

Anyway, Charlotte's not even an English name to begin with! The root of the name 'Charlotte' is French! What business do the British have choosing a French name for their baby! I thought they weren't exactly BFFs or anything.

Ok, so we're not French either. But we're not royalty. Like say, if I'm Chinese royalty, I'm certainly not going to choose a name rooted in Japanese culture for my royal kid. Just saying.

Bah. Whatever. Let me get bumped up first.

After the unhinging 2 weeks wait, today is finally the day for the pregnancy blood test. Woke up really early and went down to the clinic in full anticipation. The blood test cost me $40.99.

$40.99 for a pregnancy test!! Daylight robbery, I say. Peeing into a pregnancy test stick would have just cost around $5! I wonder how much pregnancy tests cost in other countries...

So they took a vial of my blood and promised to call me with the results within 3 hours.

I spent the next few hours tapping my feet impatiently and working at the same time. The call finally came.

"I'm sorry to tell you the results are negative. You are not pregnant at all."

Deadpan, she proceeded to tell me about the next doctor's appointment in a month's time.

After the phone call, I impassively finished up the paperwork I was doing before the call came, sent the emails I was supposed to send, and retreated inconspicuously to my room and bawled under the pillow. (I work in a SOHO, I can do that; I don't have to hide in the toilet.)

I took 45 minutes to calm myself down as the movie reel of the past few months played itself out in my head. Oh the lucrin injections; the painful transvaginal ultrasounds; the hormonal sandstorm; the excruciating OHSS; the hospital stay; the harrowing transfer, the medicine medicine medicine; the crazy insane anticipation. And after all that; Nothing.

I didn't buzz anyone right away. I don't need "It's ok, try again". It's not ok. I need a little more empathy, which no one is capable of giving me, because I am alone in this. No one understands the trauma of going through IVF. It's constantly in my head; a parasite that eats my brain. My bio-clock mocks me cruelly.

What went wrong?

I was unappeased. I whipped out the pregnancy test kit I bought a while ago and peed into it just to see what it says.

Negative.

I all but hurled it into the bin.

Lunch time. I made my first cup of coffee in more than a week.

Tonight, I shall have beer. Tomorrow, I shall go shopping.

For now, back to work. (Damn, I gotta stop tearing)

Goodbye, Alice and Bach.

(The Two Weeks Wait Trilogy summarises how I spent the hellish 2 weeks Post Embryo Transfer.)

Day 13 (29 Apr, Wed)
Had a nightmare that period did come last night. My period dreams have always come true within the next 2 days so I'm frantic now. Received the SMS reminder that the blood test is next Monday, as if it's not constantly on my mind.

Otherwise exhausted from work.


Day 14 (30 Apr, Thu)
Officially 2 weeks. So darn tired from all the work..


Day 15 (01 May, Fri)
Labour Day and cousin's wedding. Woke up too early for the tea ceremony. Meeting in afternoon. Napped for an hour. Wedding banquet afterwards. No time to worry too much about about the blood test until back at home typing this.



Day 16 (02 May, Sat)
Fighting the irresistible urge to pluck out the pregnancy test kit. Only thing stopping me is fact that my pee is filled with curdled progesterone. How accurate would all that hormonally pumped pee be?