PUPO (Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise). It’s a popular acronym in the infertility community, usually accompanied by embryo photos and descriptions of pregnancy symptoms that could realistically only be the side effects of progesterone injections, even if the poster is pregnant. For 10-14 days (depending on the clinic), these maybe mothers-to-be excitedly count down to testing day, imagining the baby that could be. When the time comes, some excitedly announce a “sensitive post,” which literally even the most casual observer like myself knows proceeds a positive test. Others post videos of themselves breaking down. Many just disappear for a few days or weeks to process a lost embryo. I’ve never been an active participant in the infertility community, myself. I understand that different people cope with this terrible situation in different ways, but aside from this blog, I’m a private sufferer. I haven’t told a soul we’ve undergone a transfer. If it fails, no one will know. Maybe that’s healthy and maybe it’s not, but I don’t see how doing full make-up and posting a photo of myself crying behind a letter board announcing the results to the world would any healthier.

These last seven days have been absolutely wretched. My hips are black and blue from the injections. I’m exhausted from stress-induced lack of sleep. I ironically yelled at my precious two-year-old for being rough with a book called “K is for Kindness.” I honestly don’t know how other women choose to embrace the possibility of success, especially those who’ve experienced thedevastating call that goes something like this:

“I need you to stop taking all medications immediately. The side effects should fade within the next week. You can expect a really heavy period. We’d like you to wait at least one cycle before trying again, but after that, it should be quite simple.”

Simple. I just have to fork over another $4,000 – $5,000 and spend two more months yelling at my children and husband, randomly bursting into tears, and feeling like I have the flu… all while wrangling three in diapers. A part of me envies the positivity of these women announcing that they are “PUPO”. The realist in me understands that if the power of positive thinking created babies, we wouldn’t be here. No matter what we do, we are simply experiencing a case of Schrodinger’s Baby, a term anyone who has nerdy friends or a cursory knowledge of The Big Bang Theory, should be able to decipher. Per Wikipedia:

In quantum mechanics, Schrödinger’s cat is a thought experiment that illustrates a paradox of quantum superposition. In the thought experiment, a hypothetical cat may be considered simultaneously both alive and dead, while it is unobserved in a closed box, as a result of its fate being linked to a random subatomic event that may or may not occur.

We are both pregnant and not pregnant simultaneously. More morbidly, our embryos are both alive and not alive. We can do nothing to increase the odds. We just have to wait… miserably.

I’ve spent the last seven days both certain that I’ll complete my family… and also that I’ll let everyone down, destroying our baby, my children’s sibling, and wasting the $5,000 we’ve gambled on this cat being alive when we open the box. I’ve both declared that I’ll drain my own retirement to get my fourth before I’ll donate it with my other embryos… and also that I cannot do this again. I’ve felt hopeful… and I’ve cried in Jake’s arms over the fact that it’s not supposed to be like this, that it’s not fair that this is how we have to make a baby. I’ve cuddled my Thomas and been so very grateful I got to have him the traditional way… and I’ve been bitter that I didn’t get to do so again. I’ve thanked God that I didn’t have to go through IVF again… and I’ve been certain that this is equally difficult.

My blood test is tomorrow. I will either find relief… or long for this state of not knowing, this phenomenon of Schrodinger’s Baby, because at least then, there was a chance and that was better. I cannot do this again… unless I have have to do this again.