The alarm went off at 6 AM, as normal, for Mrs Astronomer to take her thrice daily dose of Progesterone. Shortly afterwards I was roused from my nice warm bed to hold her hand whilst she peed in a jar.
Okay, so that’s not strictly accurate; she’d already done the peeing aspect at 4AM when she got up for a leak, this was just so she could dip a pipette in said jar of pee and then put a drop onto the sensor bit of the pregnancy test.
So, in short, I was woken up to watch my wife play amateur chemist with her own widdle.
We stared at the pregnancy test with bleary eyes as the chemicals did their job. It was a forgone conclusion, of course. I’m no biologist, but I’m pretty certain that someone having her period is a pretty damn good sign that they’re not pregnant. Still, the clinic had told us to take the test this morning regardless of whatever happened, and so take it we did.
It came out negative.
Grumpily, we went back to bed.
So it’s officially all over, for now. No more drugs, no more fertility schedules. She got all her crying out of the way a few days ago when her period started, but today was still tough. She had a bath (as that was one of the things she wasn’t allowed until pregnancy was confirmed). The sight of all that slightly gloopy blood washing away down the plughole was somewhat upsetting for me, to say the least; there was probably an embryo mixed in there somewhere. Doesn’t really bear thinking about.
We still have two embryos ready to go in the freezer, and we will be using them, just as soon as we’re ready to go again. First, however, we shall take a few weeks to regroup. It’s been a tough few months and the prospect of immediately starting again is not one which we’re relishing, but we’re not getting any younger, so the sooner the better.
It’ll be okay.