Seven months . . .

I’m all settled in (or as settled in as you can be with almost no furniture) in my new city. I’ve been at my new job for just over a week and I like it so far. I am excited about the science in a way I haven’t been for awhile during my PhD. Everything was getting repetitive and I was tired of doing the same things over and over and over again, and going through the same “I have experience with this model and this (insert not a big deal) problem is fine” with the technicians. I am excited to be doing something new, and the new lab has so many exciting, interesting projects that are ongoing/getting started that I’m almost overwhelmed trying to figure out what exactly my research will be on.

I was referred to the fertility clinic in my new province and hadn’t heard from them after 2 weeks so I called to make sure they got all my paperwork. I was told that they hadn’t received everything yet, and that it was way too early for them to be contacting me for an appointment because they are currently booking SEVEN MONTHS out and that it could take another FIVE MONTHS after that to start IVF. I was (am) devastated. I curled up next to my husband crying so hard that he thought someone had died. I can’t believe that the wait is so long. We’ve already been at this for 17 months/20 cycles with no success. We’ve done 5 cycles of fertility treatments with no success. I can’t believe it will be another YEAR before we can try IVF. 12 more months of heartbreak, of fruitlessly trying. I’ve given up hope that I will ever have a child.