My story: Of ICSI, IVF & 2ww

It was the month of May 2013 and it began. The daily visit to hospital, those blood tests, the scans and what not. Two things were  interesting for me. One - that I was trying to learn all the medical jargons around this. And two - the yummy breakfast at Murugan Idly. Come on. We had something at least to look forward to each day to  brighten our day up. The crucial day had dawned - the day they would collect my eggs. I hadnt asked God for too much. While my batchmates would give me numbers of the mighty 18s and 20s all I asked HIM for was six. My eyes were just opening from the anaesthetic effect as I felt a soft hand holding mine. "How many" I  asked. He slowly retracted his hand from mine. Less than six was the first thought. At least five God? Tears rolled down my eyes as his fingers made a V.
So they would grow our to-be babies in a petri dish and transfer them back to my uterus. The third day as our embryos werent progressing much. We walked into the operation theatre and our to be babies were placed under a microscope for us to see. We were not qualified to deem them perfect. For us, it was an assurance. We could create life. Hold on babies. Mama will take care of you for the next nine months. God willing. The doctor had given us a date to check if it had materialised to a pregnancy. Two weeks of books, TV, music and prayers. Three days before D day, I noticed a trickle of blood. We rushed to the hospital to let them confirm our fears. Negative. Tears. Gallons of them. And not to forget the questions to God. Unanswered as always. We decided we wouldnt give up. We would fight. We would try again in three months when my body was ready. And my mind.
Came October and we were back at the hospital. This time the magic number was four. Hope. Sunlight at the end of the tunnel. We went home happily with four embryos inside me. Every day I would talk to them. Of how dear they were to us. Of how much we would try to take care of them. Of how much they meant to us and all of us around. And the truth. Of how reckless parents we would be. As each day passed I found myself getting more and more attached to them. There was life inside me. Four of them. D day came. I wouldnt go to the hospital. We had them collect my blood. It would be prem and my mom. The longest three hours of my life. I still remember I was watching Mission Impossible 2. Did I miss the irony? My phone rang. It was my mom. Negative.
I disconnected the phone and broke down. Agony. This time I spoke to my should-have-been babies. Did you not believe in every word I said? Did you think I would not live up to my words? Did you feel my promises were false? Or did you decide I was not worthy of you. Whatever you felt mama will try to understand you some day. But today is difficult. Because I am full of pain. Not from the 54 injections that I took to keep you strong but because you chose to desert me. And leave us alone yet again.
We decided to take a years break and go for a donor egg. I didn't care what the others said how it wouldn't be our baby. It would be ours. It would be mine. It would grow in my womb. I would nurture it for nine months. To say we had let go would be an exaggeration. Cause to let go is to be valiant. And that we were not. We understood how infinitely insignificant we were in front of HIM and we decided to bow. To give up. To surrender. To succumb. Cause we no longer had strength in us to fight. 
I well up when I write this as the scar remains. Dear God, you give us the strength to fight and at the same time the power to give up. Like I pray to you every day, please let go of your fight with six special women in my life. With June. Param. Arch. Dee. Sowmya. Chloe. Who hide their pain from emotional pricks and sport a smile. Not just because they are special to me. Because any case you win. And mainly because they have fought enough.
Cheers,
Hopie