It’s been a long long time since our last round of IVF, way back in August. After an extended period of silence, I was contacted before Christmas to start booking in our pre-IVF appointments.

With the last round having been a flop, the consultant was keen to talk through the results with us. I was frustrated when the idea of talking to the consultant was first muted in August, as it seemed at first we wouldn’t be able to book our next round of IVF before we spoke to him, and his diary was full for several months. However, when the IVF did get booked in for March, I could relax. Still I couldn’t really see the point of the conversation, as we already knew the failure had just been luck of the draw.

As usual the meeting was at first planned to be in person, but I pushed back, requesting it be a phone call. When we eventually had the call it lasted a total of 5 minutes, and just told us what we already knew. I was very glad we hadn’t driven 2.5hrs for it.

The consultant did suggest we started taking a fertility vitamin and mineral supplement, plus vitamin D. While there wasn’t enough evidence to be sure it would help, he was inclined to think it wouldn’t hurt.

Another appointment that was suggested to be in person, but which I moved to a phone call, was a discussion to go back over the paperwork for the treatment. Again a 5 minute phonecall, with no real useful information. It seems to me there’s lots of inefficiencies with the process, which could save everyone time and money to eliminate.

We were also told we needed head to Sheffield to re-sign the paperwork associated with the IVF. Given that it had previously taken us 2 hours to go over and sign it all, and nothing had changed, we asked if we could just say we agree, and reuse the last lot. But we were told we both needed to attend in person to sign new documents. Luckily, with some persuasion, I managed to get the nurse to agree we could re-sign at the same time as attending the first physical exam of the new round.

Finally, having passed the various burocratic hurdles, it was time to start the bit that actually matters; the treatment.

We headed to Sheffield nice and early one Friday near the end of February. When the nurse called my name, both myself and Chris followed into the examination room. I’d been expecting a long appointment to go over the paperwork, so I was surprised when they suggested Chris might want to stay in the waiting room while I had my exam. Pointing out he was here to sign the paperwork, the nurses had a quick look at the file. Oh yes, they said, he missed a tick box last time. With that, Chris ticked one missed box and signed the page. Done. Well worth 5 hours of travel and half a day off work.

With the paperwork completed, I settled in for my scan. I’d been instructed to come off the pill at the start of the week, and had been bleeding since. I’d previously been told it was fine to have the scan while on my period, but it seemed a little uncomfortable. Given how society trains women to be embarressed by their own menstruation, to hide it away, it’s not surprising that it didn’t feel natural to be examined at this time.

Because I was still bleeding, the uterus lining wasn’t as thin as they would have liked for the start of the hormonal treatment. They therefore took a blood test to check my oestrogen levels, with instructions for me to call in the afternoon to find out if it was OK to start. When I rang it was a relief that the levels were OK, as I would have had to return the next day if not.

I had a fair few drugs left over from the previous cycle. As these were in date, unopened and kept in the fridge, I was able to use them again. However, I still needed a top up, and as the cost is priced per type of medication, rather than amount, there wasn’t any saving in having kept the old medication.

As before I started with evening injections of the Gonal F. This time I decided I could do my own injections, rather than get Chris to do them. I did end up with signicantly more bruises by doing it myself, but with Chris leaving early for work, and me working away several evenings away, there were too many occasions when I had to inject myself, to make it worth troubling him the rest of the time.

Having started the Gonal F on the Friday, I started the Cetrotide on Wednesday morning, taking that every morning and the Gonal F every evening. The Cetrotide did make me feel a little queasy the first few times I took it, but apart from that, and the bruising, the whole process was very straightforward, and easier than last time, having been through it before.

The following Friday I was back to Sheffield for another check up. Frustratingly this appointment is always set to before they think you’ll be ready, meaning I knew the journey would be a wasted one. Having checked the ovaries for follicles, the nurse announced there were 8, significantly less than last time, so a little disappointing. However, the nurse did point out that more didn’t necessarily mean a greater chance of success.

With the scan confirming that I wasn’t ready, I headed back home to take more hormones, with a new appointment for the Tuesday. Everything was starting to ache at this point, in my sides and my back. The feeling of tenderness is akin to bruising from having been punched in the sides.

Back to Sheffield on Tuesday. This time the scan revealed 11 well-developed follicles, a boost from the previous 8.

On my Friday appointment the follicles had measured 11-13mm, and they needed to be 16mm to be ready. Growing roughly a mm a day, the nurse was unsure on Friday that I’d be ready on Tuesday. But luckily they were all 15mm – 18mm. While this meant I didn’t need to return for another scan, the nurses had to contact Guys and St Thomas to see if a Thursday or Friday appointment would be best, given a few follicles were still a little small. Luckily a Thursday appointment was set. With the signal to go go go, I didn’t take my other hormones, and simply injected the trigger, at 10pm on the Tuesday night, so as to be ready for egg collection at 10am on the Thursday.

So back to London we went on Wednesday night, dropped off the dog with my parents, and arriving at a premier Inn for Midnight. With a 10am appointment we had to get there for 9am.

As before, the process was very smooth, getting into my gown and my sandwich-making hat, being given paracetamol and answering a few questions to make sure I was ready.

Last time they had administered a long-lasting pain killer via suppository while I was knocked out. I thought this was great as I didn’t really fancy someone giving me a suppository while I was awake. However, this time they asked me if I wanted to do it myself, or if I preferred that they would do it during the operation. This stumped me, as I didn’t really want to do it myself, but it seemed odd to say, no I want someone else to shove something up my bum… I did do it, and it wasn’t too difficult, though it seemed to melt in my hand and become slippery like a bar of wet soap.

After I had that odd experience, Chris went off to give his sample, at least a more enjoyable task than mine.

Once everything was ready, I headed to the theatre. The experience, though familiar, seemed different from last time. The nurse undoing the ties at the back of the gown was a little rough, and not particularly careful of preserving my dignity. The anaesthetists gave me the drug to knock me out in two doses, the first making me feel dizzy and sending pain up my arm, before the second knocked me out. And when I returned from the appointment the dizziness and sleepiness seemed to last much longer.

Chris too noticed a difference. He’d been hoping to film me talking gibberish post-surgery, as I apparently did last time. This time I made too much sense to provide him with the kind of entertainment he was hoping for.

Having been nil by mouth since the night before the surgery, I’d been expecting to wake up starving, as I had been before the surgery, but instead I was simply queasy. Indeed, the queasiness and a soreness continued for the rest of the day, more I thought than last time.

Still, the embryologist came to see us before we were discharged. A total of 15 eggs had been successfully harvested, four more than we’d been expecting. And with Chris’s sample also looking good, we at least had all the correct ingredients to give the next steps a good go.

It’s felt like a long old road to get to this second attempt, and yet nothing’s guaranteed. If we fail this time we’ll have one more go, but how long will we have to wait for that? We’re relatively relaxed through this whole process, but I can see how it contributes to stress and unhappiness. Uncertainty is the hardest thing to face often, but that’s the way it works. So we wait, again, to see if any embryos will emerge, fit and healthy, and free of PKD.