As I sit here, sipping my morning tea and gazing out the window, my mind wanders to a topic that has been weighing heavily on my heart lately. It's a topic that combines hope, uncertainty, and a touch of melancholy - the dilemma of what to do with the remaining frozen embryos that have been a constant presence in our life for the last 5 years.
The journey to this point has been one filled with highs and lows, moments of excitement and crushing disappointment. After multiple rounds of fertility treatments, we found ourselves with 8 frozen embryos, each representing a small glimmer of possibility. These tiny, delicate forms held within them the potential to bring life into the world, to shape the future, and to fulfill the dreams my husband and I had held onto for so long. You will all know by now for those who have followed me for some time that we were incredibly lucky that the first one of those 8 we transferred has resulted in our beautiful daughter who is now approaching turning 3.
But as time continues, relentless in its march forward, I find myself facing a dilemma that I could never have fully anticipated. I'm getting older, and the prospect of attempting another Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET) becomes more uncertain with each passing month. The medical realities of advancing age and the toll it can take on a woman's body are undeniable, and I am not immune to these facts. In fact I am very aware of the toll the last rounds of treatment took on my body let alone the impact my pregnancy had.
The thought of attempting another FET comes with a mixture of hope in fulfilling a life desire but also an incredible sense of fear. Hope, because there is still a part of me that clings to the dream of becoming a parent once more, expanding our family, of holding a tiny, precious life in my arms. Fear, because I've been down this road before - the shots, the ultrasounds, the anxious waits for test results - and I know that it's not an easy path, with no guarantee that my ageing body will respond as well this time round either. It's a rollercoaster of emotions that can take a toll on one's mental and emotional well-being.
And then there's the practical side of things. The financial burden of another round of treatments, the time off work, the toll on my body - these are all factors that I must consider. It's a complex equation that requires careful thought and consideration, and it's a decision that I can't make lightly, or alone its one we must make together. There is also the consideration of the impact it will have if it was to work, how will that fair with me and my body in a much older state then the first time round, the financial commitments with raising 2 children, in the middle of a cost of living crisis when things are already hard enough at times.
Every time I think about the bad outweighing the good, I am forced to revisit what makes this decision even more challenging is the emotional attachment I've formed with those frozen embryos. Each one represents a piece of our journey, a tangible reminder of the hopes and dreams we'd nurtured for so long. It's not as simple as just discarding them; it's like saying goodbye to a part of myself, to a vision of the future that I've held onto with such determination.
The idea of donating the embryos to another couple is a possibility that has crossed my mind. The thought that these embryos, these little potentials, could bring joy and fulfillment to another family is heartwarming. But even that option comes with its own set of emotional struggles. Will I be able to let go? Will I wonder about the lives those embryos might have led if they were given the chance within my own body? And is this really messing with genetics too much given we used an egg donor?
And then there's the option of simply letting them go, allowing the embryos to be thawed and their potential to fade away. It's a painful thought, a concept that feels like a goodbye to a dream that's been clung to for so long. But today I realised it could also be a decision that might offer a sense of closure, a chance to move forward and embrace whatever the future holds, even if it doesn't align with the path that was envisioned.
As I continue to grapple with this dilemma, I find solace in knowing that I'm not alone. Many others have faced similar decisions, each with their own unique circumstances and emotions to navigate. It's a reminder that I'm a part of a larger community, one that understands the weight of these choices and the emotions that come with them.
In the end, I know that the decision we make will be deeply personal, a reflection of values, hopes, and fears. There is no right or wrong answer, only a path that we must choose and walk with courage and conviction. As I take another moment to reflect, I know that this journey is far from over. The road ahead may be uncertain, but it's a road I'll navigate with an open heart and a determination to find my way.