I knew this day was coming. I knew it was coming when the year flicked over into 2017. I’ve been a bit unsettled and twitchy the past few weeks, I initially put it down to post Christmas fatigue but then I made the connection – it was 28 January making me feel weird.
This time last year I was in Alicante, all on my own as Matt was home with Toby. I’d made a quiet solo trip to have our one remaining embryo transferred, nobody knew and we told Toby I’d gone away for work. I was scared, nervous, hopeful. Honestly, we didn’t expect the embryo to survive the thaw but it did. I took a selfie whilst I was waiting for the doctor to come back – I look excited, I look stupid. I look at the picture now and want to reach inside and shake the me of last year and shout ‘what the fuck are you doing? Leave it in the freezer, find a surrogate!’
That embryo, Henry’s embryo, was our hope and I wasted it. I railroaded Matt into agreeing a date to use it as I thought another baby would fix me, pregnancies around me added pressure to those feelings (not their fault, obviously). I wish someone had told me no but the fertility clinics were on board, we had a treatment plan from the doctor. In hindsight I should have pushed for more than just aspirin as a plan but trusted doctors then, they know best after all.
As it was, as soon as I was pregnant I realised that 100 babies wouldn’t fix me. I just wanted Rory back and that couldn’t happen.
I thought 2017 might be ok as we’re not spending our lives governed by fertility planning but of course I’m going to be reliving all of Henry’s first milestones and Rory’s second milestones – neither are the milestones we hoped for. It was Toby’s birthday last week and Matt said it was nice to do a big party as we won’t ever have them for the babies. He’s right, they have milestones but these are fixed in the past, ever present dates that make me twitch.
I’m really hoping 2017 is kinder.