I am holding my future in my hands.
Trembling fingers can barely rip open the plastic casing containing the thin strip that will show me whether I’m pregnant, or have just thrown away a chunk of life savings and my soul on failed IVF.
My mouth goes dry and my heart starts into erratic bat-wing thumps. I need to do this quickly before I start thinking too much, while I’m still groggy with sleep and this hazy dreamlike state is providing a buffer against reality.
I’m testing early, perhaps too early. Tomorrow (Monday, 14 days after embryo transfer) is the official testing date recommended by my fertility clinic but I know that I couldn’t face the second week of a new teaching job on the back of devastating news. Testing today will at least give me a few hours to try to come to terms with the result.
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