Inside my IVF Journey. From Stimulation and Transfer to the all important Pregnancy Test.

A day-by-day real-time look into my latest IVF cycle as we try for baby no.2 — updated weekly with every appointment, cost, scientific detail and hope along the way.

Introduction

Before I dive into the daily entries, I want to set the scene. Every patient, every doctor, and every clinic does things a little differently. What I'm sharing here is simply my own journey with ARGC - the clinic I chose, and the place where I also conceived my son. Treatment is always tailored to the individual, and this just happens to be mine.

Why am I sharing this? A few reasons:

1. In my work, I'm often asked about my personal IVF experiences - the protocols, the medications, the reality of it all.

2. IVF is packed with detail, and a year later it's easy for things to feel muddled or forgotten. Writing this blog is as much a record for myself as it is for anyone else.

3. When you're starting out or weighing up your options, it can be so valuable to peek behind the curtain. If you're curious, or simply want an honest account, I hope this will help.

I've been through IVF at various clinics, and ARGC certainly adopts a more intensive approach. Keep this in mind as you read, as it is definitely on the more rigorous end of the spectrum. Personally I find that reassuring, if I'm going through all of this, I want the most thorough care possible. I feel incredibly fortunate to be in a position to choose it. So here we are: my day-by-day diary of this cycle. It won't be glamorous, but it will be real. I'll share the early mornings, the needles, the medications, the costs, the hope, and everything in between. And if you're going through IVF yourself - or thinking about it - I hope that following along gives you insight, reassurance, or simply the reminder that you're not alone.

Day One: Tuesday, 2nd September 2025

Today marks the beginning of my IVF stimulation cycle. It took me two and a half years to conceive my son, so although it feels a little soon to be starting this process again with him only 11 months old, I’m now a bit older and keen to keep things moving. We have been trying naturally, but my gut tells me we’ll likely need IVF again, so I feel the urge to get going. I went into the clinic bright and early for a baseline scan and bloods. Stimulation usually starts on either day one or two of full flow, and this appointment was the “all clear” check before meds can begin.

The scan came first. They counted 5-6 tiny follicles on both ovaries. My lining was thin (as expected) no cysts – so all looked good. Then followed bloods which take place in a different building across the street. The needle stung a little, such a small thing, but it hit me emotionally. It reminded me how many jabs, stabs and needles this process involves – and everything I went through to have my first baby. IVF isn’t just physically uncomfortable (endless vaginal ultrasounds, daily injections and blood draws - sometimes twice a day), it’s emotionally draining too. Still, I know why I’m here: because it’s worth it.

I left with a sharps bin, my trigger shot injections (to be taken 36 hours before egg retrieval), and today’s stimulation medication: 600 IU of Fostimon (a pure FSH hormone that stimulates follicle growth) and 600 IU of Meriofert (a combination of FSH and LH that also supports follicle development). The exact dose I inject each day is determined by my morning blood result. The clinic calls each afternoon with instructions, sometimes telling me to use one or the other, and sometimes a combination of both.

The nurse asked about scheduling a hysteroscopy later in the week, but I declined. A hysteroscopy happens under general anaesthetic and involves passing a thin telescope-like camera (a hysteroscope) through the vagina and cervix into the uterus, allowing the doctor to directly see the lining and check for abnormalities. I’d already had one before my first pregnancy, and it revealed nothing. My hunch was that it wouldn’t add much this time either.

There were also some big decisions to make. They asked if I wanted to do PGT-A testing (to see if our embryos are chromosomally normal) and whether I’d prefer a fresh transfer. After some back and forth, I decided to transfer my one remaining frozen embryo (low-grade, but still mine) alongside one fresh embryo from this cycle. That way, I’d be transferring two embryos: one frozen, one fresh. The doctor did suggest two fresh, since they’re likely to be higher quality, so that’s something to consider.

As I plan to have a fresh transfer, those embryos can't be PGT-A tested, as results take around two weeks, and fresh transfers happen within 5 days of retrieval. However, I’ve chosen to test any excess embryos. The two times I’ve had egg collections previously, I didn’t choose PGT-A because I was 34 and then 35, and at those ages it wasn’t strongly recommended. Now I’m 37, and it’s considered much more relevant.

Approximate % of eggs that are chromosomally abnormal:

• Age 30: about 25–30% abnormal, meaning roughly 70–75% normal.

• Age 37: about 55–60% abnormal, meaning only 40–45% normal.

Why this matters

• As maternal age increases, the chance of retrieving an egg that can develop into a chromosomally normal embryo decreases.

• This explains why miscarriage risk rises with age and why IVF success rates are lower in the later 30s and beyond.

Three hours later, I was heading home. From now on it’ll be daily bloods, with scans every other day or so until collection.

That afternoon, the clinic phoned with instructions to inject 600 IU of Fostimon.

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Day Two

For week one of stimulation, I’ve been asked to arrive at the clinic between 7–10 am, so I’ve planned to leave home at 7 each morning. I live about 45 minutes away by car, so a full appointment with bloods and a scan usually ends up being a three-hour round trip.

Back at the clinic this morning – just bloods today, then across the road to collect more medication before heading home. I topped up on the Fostimon I used yesterday (they like you to always have 600 IU of Fostimon and 600 IU of Meriofert on hand). The real sting wasn’t the needle this time, but the £5,000 deposit.

They also took bloods to check my Natural Killer (NK) cells. A few weeks ago my Cytokines were tested and, surprisingly, came back normal. When I conceived my son, high Cytokines and NK cells were the issue and I needed immune treatment. This time cytokines look fine, but we’ll see what today’s NK results reveal.

While waiting, I started tackling the never-ending stack of consent forms. They expire after a year, which means redoing the whole lot from scratch. With no scan, today’s visit was relatively quick — bloods done, meds collected, and I was back home within two hours.

That afternoon, the clinic phoned with instructions to inject 600 IU of Fostimon again.

Extra notes from the phone call:

• Hubby to ejaculate every 2–3 days to keep sperm fresh, but abstain once I’m triggered

• No intercourse during stimulation

• Start Clomid (though I couldn’t today as I hadn’t been given a prescription — so that will have to begin tomorrow)

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Day Three

Today was fairly quick. I popped in, had my bloods drawn, collected more meds, and dashed home to my husband and son. I haven’t really mentioned it so far, but mornings have been a real juggling act with my son. If my husband’s home, it’s manageable, but if not, I have to drop him at his grandmother’s very early - a 6:45 am start.

As it was my 37th birthday today 🎂, my husband had planned a lovely lunch out with a couple of friends and family. I packed my meds to take with me, ready for the call with instructions. When the call came, they asked me to inject 600 IU of Fostimon — but I’d forgotten the syringes and needles. The meds come as vials with powder, but the kit is separate. Lesson learned: always keep a backup set in the car. Thankfully, the clinic usually allows a couple of hours’ window to take the meds, so I was able to enjoy my birthday lunch before dashing home to inject.

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Day Four

Back at the clinic bright and early this morning. Bloods first, then a scan. They didn’t do a full follicle count, but we saw a few small follicles and one slightly larger, more dominant one. Still early days.

Based on my bloods, they switched me from 600 IU of Fostimon to 600 IU of Meriofert.

On the way home, my husband and I had an important conversation. We both realised we really don’t want to risk having twins. As tempting as it is to “double our chances”, the reality is that it would be such a huge life shift, and neither of us feels comfortable with that. So we’ve decided to transfer just one embryo — most likely a fresh one, since higher-grade embryos give us a stronger chance. That said, I’ll always believe low-grade embryos can be just as powerful. My son was a day-6 5BBC “borderline” embryo, and yet he became our perfect little boy.

Medications today:

• Meriofert 600 IU daily (switched from Fostimon).

• Clomid 2 x 50 mg daily, to help stimulate ovulation and improve follicle development.

• Viagra (yes, that Viagra!), to help thicken my endometrial lining by boosting blood flow.

• Aspirin 75 mg daily, to improve blood flow to the uterus and support implantation.

• Clexane 20 mg daily injection, a blood thinner that can support implantation and reduce clotting risk, (must be taken 12 hours apart from aspirin).

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Day Five

Today is Sunday, and with my hubby off work he drove me in. No traffic, no stress.

First stop bloods, then collecting more meds. Around 2 pm, the clinic called with instructions. When the nurse began with, “let me know when you’ve got a pen”, I knew things were about to get complicated.

Today I’m back on 600 IU of Fostimon. From tomorrow, Cetrotide will join the party at 5 am. Cetrotide is a daily injection that must be taken at exactly the same time each day. It prevents premature ovulation before egg collection. It has to come out of the fridge before injecting to bring the solution to room temperature, meaning setting an extra early alarm!

From tomorrow onwards I’ll be up to three injections plus five tablets at different times 😵‍💫. Juggling it all alongside my son is… let’s just say, a challenge. To add to the chaos, my husband (an airline pilot) has just left for LA and will be gone for 3 full days. I’d usually ask my mum to come and stay, but she and my dad are in Japan for the month. The timing isn’t great, but then again, it never really is, you just find a way and do your best.

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Day Six

This morning started painfully early. Alarm at 4:45 am, I tiptoed downstairs (aware that my son could wake at any moment) to fetch Cetrotide from the fridge, left it out for 15 minutes (with some palm-rubbing “science”), then mixed powder with liquid, swirled it gently, drew it back up into the syringe, changed the needle head and injected at 5 am sharp. Honestly, it feels surreal at times that all these time-sensitive drugs are entrusted to me with absolutely no medical training. Somehow, half-asleep, I think I got it right. Then crawled back to bed for another hour.

Morning chaos followed: sorting my son and dropping him at his grandmother’s so I could head to the clinic. Armed myself with my usual half-caf coffee (don't knock it til you try it) then downed my morning cocktail of Viagra, Clomid, and Aspirin, thinking anyone watching would assume I was a complete crackhead.

At the clinic, they took bloods — lots of them. About eight vials today, as they had to repeat the immune (NK cells) bloods. The immune testing is actually done in Chicago, so my blood is drawn in London and then has to get on a plane. Sometimes it misses the plane (believe it or not) or gets delayed by bad weather. Almost couldn’t make it up. My poor veins.

Then onto the scan: three follicles on the right ovary, five or six on the left. Lining measured 6 mm — good for me at this stage, so the Viagra seems to be doing its job (never thought I’d say that sentence).

Later, the clinic called. Tonight’s dose: 450 IU of Meriofert. They ran through all the meds with me again to make sure I’m on track, and asked me to be back at the clinic tomorrow morning around 8 am for usual bloods and a Fostimon/Meriofert top-up.

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Day Seven

Today started bright and early again – 4:45 am for my favourite alarm: the Cetrotide injection. I tried a new trick though, warming the syringe under my armpit (classy, I know). It actually worked wonders.

I managed to crawl back into bed afterwards, but only squeezed in an extra half-hour before my son was up bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to take on the world. Meanwhile, I was still half-dreaming about my duvet.

I’ve started to feel a bit groggy, slight headache, blocked nose, and just a general “off” feeling. Pretty sure that’s the Viagra side effects, I seem to remeber the feeling from last time. At 7am I took the usual concoction – Viagra, Clomid (final dose), and Aspirin – chased with my beloved half-caff coffee.

After dropping my son at his grandmother’s, I headed to the clinic. Nothing dramatic today, just bloods. A bit of a wait in the waiting room, the usual routine.

For the first time this cycle, I noticed some mild cramping in my uterus. Hard to know if that’s just my follicles gearing up, or my body trying to ovulate and the Cetrotide doing its job of holding it all back.

From today, I also need to stay within an hour of the clinic at all times, as they may call me back in the afternoon for an extra blood test or scan. This is where I think ARGC really set themselves apart from other clinics. Twice-daily monitoring might seem excessive, but I genuinely believe this level of detail is what makes their treatment stand out.

This afternoon the clinic called: tonight’s dose is 300 IU of Meriofert. I’m back in tomorrow morning for bloods at 7:30 am, which means another 6:45 drop-off at my son’s grandmother’s, all after my 4:45 am Cetrotide injection. Exhausted already! Thankfully my husband is back tomorrow evening, so the rest of the week he can stay with my son while I head to appointments.

So that’s week one wrapped: armpit-warmed injections, a groggy head and some new little twinges. I’m not sure yet how many more days of stimulation I’ll need, definitely a couple more: with my last two egg retrievals I was stimulated for around 14 days each time.

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Day Eight

I hardly slept a wink. My son ended up in our bed and tossed and turned for most of the night. By 4:30am my alarm was looming, so I gave up on sleep and crept downstairs to prepare my Cetrotide injection.

By 6:45am I’d dropped him at his grandmother’s and headed to the clinic. On route I knocked back my morning cocktail of Aspirin and Viagra along with a half-caff coffee of course. Bloods and scan were straightforward; the five-day Tube strike turned my commute into an obstacle course - dodging a peloton of e-bikes by the hundred, equal parts comedy and carnage, and I’ve got this all week! Lucky me.. The clinic advised me to stay close in case I needed repeat bloods or another scan; instead of hovering, and because I felt shattered, I risked it and drove home. I live just within an hour, so I knew I could dash back if needed.

At 11am the call came: my immune bloods were back from Chicago — NK cells elevated — I needed to return within the hour for an IV drip plus repeat bloods. Our car was running out of battery, so I had no choice but to book an eye-wateringly pricey black cab (thanks, tube strike), dropped my son with his grandmother on route, and raced in.

Back at the clinic they re-drew my bloods to fine-tune today’s stimulation dose, then hooked me up to an "Intralipids infusion". I know these well from last time, when I had one monthly from preconception until around week 20 of pregnancy. It’s a one-litre bag of milky white fluid and takes about an hour to run.

Once home, the clinic phoned with instructions: 225 IU Meriofert this evening, then back tomorrow at 7am for bloods followed by a “Neupogen wash”. The procedure is simple and painless: a small volume of solution is instilled into the uterus through a thin catheter, much like a smear test. It's used for a thin endometrium to improve endometrial receptivity and help reduce uterine NK-cell activity. I had it in the round I conceived my son, so it felt important to repeat. The evidence is mixed and it costs about £500, but right now I’m determined to give this everything I’ve got.

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Day Nine

5am Cetrotide, then my morning line-up: Aspirin, Dexamethasone (a steriod, newly prescribed to reduce inflammation and help calm NK cell activity) and Viagra — and straight to the clinic. Bloods first, followed by the Neupogen wash with the ever-kind and brilliant Dr Sapna.

Again, I was asked to stay within 30 minutes of the clinic for the next few hours in case I was needed again. After yesterday’s chaos, I played it safe and camped out in Gail’s on Marylebone High Street, where I had plenty of life admin to get on with. In that rare pocket of quiet, I noticed how different this round feels. During my first IVF a few years ago I tracked every follicle and dissected every scan note; now, with an almost-toddler and life in full swing, there’s less space to overanalyse. I’m showing up, taking the meds, trusting the process. Familiarity with ARGC helps, and perspective helps even more.

My husband was at home with our son today, so there wasn’t the same pressure to race back and relieve his grandmother. By 11:15am I was cleared to head home. I was almost disappointed; all that hanging around for nothing.

Once home, the clinic phoned with instructions: 225 IU Meriofert.

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Day Ten

Another 5am Cetrotide, then at 7am I took Aspirin, Dexamethasone and Viagra, chased with a coffee and a banana, I'm never hungry this early but its imporatnt not ot take Dexamethasone on an empty stomach. At the clinic it was bloods first, then a scan with Mr Taranissi — ARGC’s founder and Medical Director. “Mr T” is renowned for meticulous, data-led, highly individualised protocols that have kept ARGC at the top of the UK's IVF results tables since the clinic opened 30 years ago. He’s 70 now and still seems to be at the clinic every day, personally overseeing each patient’s plan. His commitment and expertise have changed countless lives; I’m profoundly grateful to him and the team for my son. I cannot praise him enough.

My lining measured 6–7 mm. It isn’t textbook thick, but he wasn’t worried. Doctors look at appearance as well as thickness, and mine apparently presented well. Yesterday’s Neupogen wash should also help thicken the lining a bit more over the next couple of days.

Late morning the call came: I was told to trigger tonight! At 8:30pm I’m to inject Zivafert 500 IU and Suprefract 0.5mL exactly on time. That sets egg collection for Sunday at 8:30am, the precise 36-hour mark.

From now, all stimulation meds pause — no Fostimon, Meriofert, Cetrotide, Viagra, Aspirin or Clexane — and I continue Dexamethasone only until collection. My husband also got his briefing: ejaculate tonight, then abstain until Sunday. Not the most romantic instruction, but such is IVF.

Because my follicle count is just into double digits, they’ve asked me to push fluids to at least 3 litres of water a day to keep Over Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS) risk down. So it’s hydration station and a quiet evening.

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Day Eleven

An unusual "day off." After numerous precisely scheduled injections and scans, doing nothing (aside from taking Dexamethasone) felt both strefful and relaxing.

From midnight, it's no food or drink in preparation for tomorrow's collection. This cycle has progressed more quickly than my previous ones; I suspect they've optimised the medications based on past experiences. I’m calm: my follicle count is around ten — slightly better than before — and given I’m not getting any younger, I can’t really ask for more.

The upcoming week is significant:

• How many eggs will be collected?

• How many will fertilize?

• How many will develop into day-5 blastocysts?

• Of the embryos we test, how many will be euploid (genetically normal)?

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Day Twelve: Sunday, 14th September 2025

It’s egg collection day. My alarm went at 6am and I started with a shower — no jewellery, no make-up, no nail varnish; the usual prep for surgery. I packed my dressing gown as requested, and a banana and bottle of water for afterwards, then we left at 6:45am.

First stop was dropping my son with his grandmother, then straight to the clinic.

Everything felt very straightforward. This isn’t my first rodeo — it’s my third egg collection, so I knew what to expect. The procedure itself was over in a flash. When I woke, they told me they’d retrieved 11 eggs. More than in my previous two collections, which felt like a real winning start.

Running total so far: £14,530 — this covers my monitored round; all meds and injections; scans and blood tests; the Neupogen wash; egg retrieval surgery; embryo transfer; embryology lab fees (including time-lapse imaging); and ICSI; plus my husband’s preliminary tests (vitamin D, infectious screening and semen analysis). For clarity, ARGC’s base fees aren’t necessarily higher than other clinics — it’s the extra diagnostics and add-on medications that really add up. They take a true “kitchen sink” approach, throwing everything at it so nothing is left unturned.

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Day Thirteen (Embryo Development Day 1)

No alarm needed today; desperately hoping for a lie-in, I was up by 7am anyway. I felt awful; sharp tummy pains, bloating and that generally unwell feeling. With 11 follicles, ovaries can go from their usual almond-sized to orange-sized; even after retrieval they stay enlarged and fluid-filled, so the discomfort lingers. I managed half a slice of toast with butter and marmalade so I could take my morning meds, then spent most of the day curled on the sofa wishing the time away. My husband reminded me I felt exactly like this last time - oddly reassuring.

A new med starts today: Cyclogest (progesterone) - one suppository, rectally, twice daily, 12 hours apart. Mid-morning, the all-important update came: 10 of the 11 eggs fertilised. A really strong start. I know numbers often fall as the days go on, but it was the lift I needed. I kept fluids and protein up (to help with fluid balance), dozed on and off, and let my body catch up.

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Day Fourteen (Embryo Development Day 2)

I woke feeling better, not perfect, but definitely improved. Usual meds, a gentle walk, and I felt a bit more like myself. With a fresh transfer in three days, I’m keen to get back to feeling my best. At 10am the clinic called: all 10 embryos are still developing on 'Day 2'. I know we’ll likely lose a few before our day 5 transfer, but today it’s a genuine win, and I’m holding onto it.

After further discussions, we have opted to transfer two fresh embryos. I've subjected my body to numerous preparations, including Dexamethasone, Aspirin, Viagra, Cyclogest, IV intralipids, and a Neupogen wash, all intended to aid implantation and early pregnancy. If this were merely an egg collection without a fresh transfer, these steps wouldn't be necessary. In the past we transferred eight embryos, two at a time, before I finally conceived my son, so subconsciously I don’t feel our chance of twins is very high. There is, of course, still a real risk. But transferring a single embryo each cycle could stretch the process and exhaust us financially, physically and, most of all, emotionally. The clinic fee is the same whether you transfer one or two. It’s a strange juxtaposition: eager to be pregnant yet weighing every detail.

At my age, about 55-60% of eggs are expected to be chromosomally abnormal (aneuploid), which means that even if two embryos are transferred, on average only one might be capable of implanting and resulting in a live birth.

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Day Fifteen (Embryo Development Day 3)

The lab called this morning with an update, and it was such a relief to hear good news. All 10 embryos are still developing! Some are a little more advanced than others, completely normal at this stage but overall everything is moving in the right direction. It’s far too early to know which ones will make it to blastocyst, but it’s a very positive sign.

A quick note on transfer days:

• Some clinics do Day 2 or Day 3 transfers if embryo numbers are low or if earlier cycles didn’t reach Day 5. This lets the embryo continue growing in the uterus, which can be a more natural environment.

• Day 5 transfers (blastocyst stage) usually have higher success rates because embryos that reach Day 5 are more likely to be viable and implant.

• Most clinics, including mine, aim for Day 5 transfers whenever possible as it gives the best chance of success.

Below is a graph showing what typical embryo development and drop-off rates look like for someone my age (37). As you can see, my results so far are very encouraging and above average but I've learnt from past experience that this whole journey really is about taking it one day at a time.

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Day Sixteen (Embryo Development Day 4)

I finally feel physically back to normal today. No update from the lab (which I expected). Here’s why most clinics don’t call on Day 4 even though embryologists already know what’s happening:

• All-or-nothing stage:

  • By Day 4, if an embryo hasn’t compacted into a morula, it’s unlikely to progress further.

  • If it has compacted, it may go on to form a blastocyst, but no guarantees yet.

    
    

• Lab’s perspective:

  • They can technically tell how many embryos are still “in the game,” but this number doesn’t reliably predict which ones will make it to Day 5.

  • Sharing Day 4 updates can cause false hope or unnecessary worry.

    
    

• Day 5 is the real milestone:

  • That’s when embryos can be graded properly (expansion, inner cell mass, trophectoderm).

  • It’s also the point where transfer or freezing decisions are made.

    
    

So, silence today is totally normal, and actually reassuring.

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Day Seventeen: Friday, 19th September 2025. (Embryo Development Day 5 and Transfer Day)

Today is the BIG day. The lab has selected my two strongest blastocyst embryos for tranasfer: which they graded as a 4AA and a 4ABAB.

This is my sixth transfer, so I know exactly what to expect. My husband was tied up with his six-monthly pilot exams (non-negotiable), so I asked my lovely friend Katie to come with me and keep an eye on my son while I went in for transfer. We arrived at the clinic at 9am for bloods, then headed over to another building for the transfer - very straightforward, a bit like a smear test. Afterwards we grabbed some lunch, then home to rest and manifest a little baby magic ✨.

My progesterone blood result came back at 700nmol/L — super high. So the plan stayed at Cyclogest 400mg twice daily, plus 75mg aspirin once daily, one Clexane injection twice daily, and 0.5g dexamethasone once daily.

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Day Eighteen – Post Transfer (Embryo Development Day 6)

A quiet, uneventful day. Just my medication routine and plenty of rest - a welcome chance to slow down and let things settle.

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Day Nineteen – Post Transfer (Embryo Development Day 7)

The clinic called with the final embryo development update — Day 7 is the final day embryos are cultured in the lab.

• Total blastocysts: 5

  • All 5 reached blastocyst stage on Day 5.

  • Two additional embryos kept developing to Day 7, but they were too low quality to grade and were discarded.

    
    

• Transferred: 2 fresh - 4AA and 4ABAB

  
  

• Biopsied and frozen: 3 more - 4AB, 5BB, 4BBC

  
  

• Extra step: We also had one previously frozen, untested embryo from an older cycle.

  
  

  • It was originally graded 4BCBC.

  • I decided to thaw, biopsy, and refreeze it.

  • After thawing and reassessment, it was regraded slightly better - now 5CB.

This older embryo was a real dilemma. I could have transferred it and avoided another egg collection, but being low grade, the clinic advised it had a much lower chance of working compared with fresher, higher-grade embryos. And if we wanted more children later, I knew it would be wiser to go through another round now, while I’m 37, rather than wait until my eggs are older.

P.S. Regarding 'low-grade' embryos, my son was a day 6 5bcbc embryo, which the lab deemed 'borderline.' However, my HCG levels were very strong, and he developed into a perfectly healthy little boy. I am a strong advocate for lower-grade embryos, as they often defy embryologists' expectations, so I strongly advise my clients not to focus too much on embryo grades. It's also important to recognize that an embryo's appearance (grade) and its chromosomal health (euploid vs. aneuploid) are related but not highly predictive. Many beautiful embryos are aneuploid, while some low-grade ones are euploid and can lead to healthy pregnancies.

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Day Twenty – Post Transfer

Back to the clinic this morning for a full blood count and progesterone check.

• Progesterone came back at 200nmol/L - still nice and high.

  → Clinic advised to continue Cyclogest twice daily (no injections needed yet).

  
  

• White blood cells had crept up slightly.

  → My dexamethasone dose was doubled from 0.5mg to 1mg daily.

  
  

Later, the embryology team called about PGT-A testing. They asked for payment: £1,980 (£495 × 4) (gulp!) to cover testing for four embryos. This is my first time doing genetic testing, so I’m curious - and a little nervous, to see the results. My hope is that if this transfer doesn’t work, we’ll have one or two euploid embryos ready for the next try. And if the transfer does work, we’ll still have them available for the future if we ever need them.

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Day Twenty-One – Post Transfer

A calm, quiet day. No phone calls, no appointments — just meds and waiting. I feel positive but realistic. If this works first time, it will be the biggest blessing, but I’m mentally prepared for whatever comes - this journey has taught me resilience. When I was pregnant with my son, I had no symptoms during the 10-day wait. I was so convinced it hadn’t worked that I cried two days before test day (probably raging hormones!), only to be surprised with a positive. So this time, I’m not over-analysing potential symptoms. I’m just trying to stay busy, hopeful, and calm.

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Day Twenty-Two – Post Transfer

Back at the clinic early for bloods.

When the clinic didn’t call straight away, I had a feeling they were taking a second look. In my experience, a late call usually means the doctor is reviewing things more deeply - often with Mr T involved.

It turned out my progesterone had dropped to 90nmol/L, which is lower than they like post-transfer but not worrysome. In natural conception the level would be expected to be around 30-50nmol/L.

New plan:

→ Cyclogest increased to two suppositories morning and evening.

→ Add a progesterone injection (glute muscle — I’ve done these before; they often add them later if levels dip).

Why progesterone support is needed in IVF

• Egg retrieval disrupts the corpus luteum. During stimulation and egg collection, many follicles are aspirated. The corpus luteum (which normally produces progesterone after ovulation) may be fewer or weaker than in a natural cycle.

• Medicated / frozen cycles suppress natural hormones. In a medicated frozen embryo transfer (FET), ovulation is often suppressed or doesn’t happen at all. Without ovulation, there’s no corpus luteum to make progesterone, so it must be given artificially.

• Progesterone is essential for implantation. It prepares the uterine lining and keeps it stable so the embryo can implant and stay attached.

• Levels can drop unpredictably. Even if some natural progesterone is present, it can fall quickly in IVF cycles. Clinics monitor levels and adjust dosing to keep it in the optimal range (often >95–125 nmol/L).

They also ran another full blood count. Mr T reviewed everything and reduced my dexamethasone back to 0.5mg.

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Day Twenty-Three – Post Transfer

Back to a normal routine today, just medication and trying to stay calm. I’ve noticed a few twinges. I didn’t feel this with my son during the wait, but I did early in that pregnancy. I’m trying not to read too much into every sensation, especially as IVF medication can mimic early pregnancy signs anyway.

Now it’s a waiting game - both to see if this transfer has been successful and to find out how many of my remaining embryos come back as normal (euploid).

In four days (10 days after the embryo transfer), I’ll be back at the clinic for an HCG blood test to find out if I’m pregnant. It’s far more accurate than a home test and lets the doctors track HCG levels closely over time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous — after everything this cycle has involved, it’s impossible not to get your hopes up. For now, I’m trying to stay busy with everyday life and take things one day at a time.

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(Fast-forward four days…)

I didn’t write daily updates over the last few days because, honestly, nothing really happened — there was nothing to do but wait and hope. So I saved the next update for the day that really matters: pregnancy test day ⬇️

Day Twenty-Seven - The Pregnancy Test

7am. Such a huge moment; I took so many deep breaths walking into the clinic. After the blood draw I headed home and my husband and I took our son for a walk in Richmond Park to distract ourselves until the phone call came. At 10am the clinic called: “Congratulations Sophie, it’s a positive result today.” For a moment the words didn’t quite land; it felt dreamlike, almost unreal. The news was incredible, but I knew the road ahead was still long and it’s far too early to truly celebrate. Even so, the relief was huge. I did little happy dance in my head as my husband and I paused to take in just how far we’ve come. In that moment, we couldn’t have asked for more.

HCG: 356 - a strong, reassuring first reading. They re-ran my bloods to check progesterone (always something they keep a close eye on) and asked me to come back the next morning to see if the numbers were rising as they should.

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Day Twenty-Eight

Back at 7am for round two. By lunchtime… silence. No call. No email. Nothing. Cue the familiar IVF anxiety creeping in. Eventually I caved, phoned the clinic, and sent an email. Finally they called, relief: HCG 623 - a 72% rise in just 24 hours, exactly what you want to see at this stage. Progesterone was still looking good. They booked me back in for Friday.

Daily cost: £900 for repeat immune blood tests and progesterone checks, along with £107 for additional medication.

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(Fast forward three days…)

Day Thirty-One

Another 7am blood draw. They mentioned I’d probably need an intralipids IV drip that afternoon. I went home and waited. And waited. The longer gap between tests felt unnerving; with my son they checked me every other day, but this time it had been three. Add to that the fact the little uterine twinges I’d felt since transfer had now faded… were they just implantation cramps? Was everything still okay? Finally, the call: HCG 2,549 - a 309% rise in 72 hours. Huge exhale. They asked me to come back within the hour for the drip, as my immune blood results were back and my NK cells were elevated.

The IV cannula really hurt going in — maybe a dodgy angle, or maybe my poor veins are just done with this routine of endless (sometimes twice-daily) blood draws. But of course it's all worth it, it always is. I can't believe I’m pregnant! It still feels so unreal to write.

Daily cost: £115 for the blood test and £300 for the Intralipids IV drip.

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A Pause to Reflect

When I was pregnant with my son, I’d already been through so many failed cycles. I didn’t even have miscarriages; I just couldn’t get pregnant. That time was heartbreaking — watching friends have babies so easily while I couldn’t. The science of IVF and the brilliant team at ARGC changed everything for me.

This time, though it’s still very early days, feels surreal. To be pregnant so quickly after everything we went through before almost doesn’t seem real. The clinic simply repeated the same protocol that finally worked with my son, and it worked again, first try. I know every clinic and every protocol is different. My experience sits at the more hardcore end of the spectrum. ARGC are known for their close monitoring and aggressive approach, but that’s exactly why I chose them. They get results, and after the heartbreak of infertility, you do whatever it takes.

One thing I often think about (and perhaps it’s a little controversial to say) is how different it feels to get pregnant on your very first IVF attempt compared with living through multiple failed rounds. That’s not to dismiss how exhausting a first cycle can be — it absolutely is — but the longer the journey drags on, the more it chips away at you. I know this first-hand: with my son it took five transfers, eight embryos and two and a half years of heartbreak. And even then, I'm acutely aware that there are women who’ve endured far more, and some who, devastatingly, never reach the dream of holding their own baby.

It also makes me wonder how many couples who rely on IVF choose to stop at one or two children. IVF is so consuming — emotionally, physically and financially, that the thought of doing it all again for a third or fourth can feel almost unimaginable. The cost alone is huge (even if you’re fortunate enough to have frozen embryos waiting). Then there’s the sheer logistics: fitting in appointments, injections and scans while already caring for one or two little ones is another level of challenge altogether.

I don’t share any of this to complain or to put anyone off IVF. I’m deeply grateful for the science that makes this possible and for the doctors who’ve helped me get here. IVF is uncomfortable and relentless, but it’s also hopeful, life-changing and worth every single bruise and needle prick when it finally works. For some of us, it’s the only way, and knowing that makes the hard parts easier to bear.

I once read that IVF is one of the few medical treatments globally that people are willing to pay for entirely out-of-pocket, despite having no guarantee of success. You might spend tens of thousands, endure months of injections, blood tests, and emotional stress, and still end up with nothing. Yet, we continue because the chance of having a baby is priceless. I also believe that those who undergo IVF possess a unique sense of gratitude. The journey, the waiting, the setbacks, and the immense effort involved can influence how we experience motherhood. It doesn't mean other mothers love or appreciate their children any less, but when you've had to fight so hard for something, it can feel especially precious.

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(Fast forward three days…)

Day Thirty-Four

Another blood draw at 7am today. My HCG came back at 5,614 and my progesterone is looking good, so I’m now officially five weeks pregnant. It always feels a little strange that you’re classed as four weeks pregnant when the clinic first confirms it.

These next few weeks are crucial. We transferred two untested embryos this time. We went back and forth about whether to wait and genetically test all of our embryos, but in the end we chose to transfer two fresh ones and freeze and test the rest. You can’t do an egg collection and a transfer in the same cycle if you want PGT-A testing -it’s one or the other, so we decided to take the chance and go ahead with a fresh transfer.

Because these embryos weren’t tested, we won’t know for certain if they’re chromosomally normal until we do the Non-Invasive Prenatal Test (NIPT) at around nine weeks. Most abnormal embryos don’t implant at all, but there’s still some uncertainty until we reach that point. We also don’t yet know if one or both embryos have implanted. My hunch is that it’s just one, as my HCG is slightly lower than it was with my son at the same stage — but we won’t know for sure until our first scan in about a week’s time.

Daily cost: £90 for blood tests and £336 for more meds.

Total cost to date: £20,753.35

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(Fast forward two days…)

Day Thirty-Six

Another 7am blood draw. It took longer than usual for the clinic to call with my results, cue the familiar IVF anxiety. When the phone finally rang, my HCG was 8,720. A 55% rise over 48 hours. This isn’t disastrous, but it’s also not the classic “doubling” we hope for at this stage. With my son, my HCG rises were textbook. Instinctively, I knew something wasn’t quite right. During that same call, they asked me to come in for a scan the following morning. That alone raised concern, it’s unusual to scan as early as 5 weeks and 4 days unless something needs a closer look. I tried to think positively, but uncertainty had started creeping in.

Daily cost: £90 for the blood test.

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Day Thirty-Seven

7am couldn’t come quickly enough. I went in for bloods and then straight through for the scan. What I saw needed no explanation — there were two sacs. The doctor zoomed in on the first. There was a pause, and then she pointed out the embryo and the clear flicker of a heartbeat. A heartbeat at just 5 weeks and 4 days is early and incredibly reassuring. The fetal pole was tiny, only 2mm, but perfectly normal for this stage. She then moved across to the second sac. This one looked different — no obvious embryo, no heartbeat. I wasn’t upset by that; twins were never our goal. My concern was focused entirely on the first embryo, was it truly okay? And why wasn’t my HCG rising the way it should?

The most likely explanation? A delayed or failing second embryo, a classic vanishing twin scenario. One embryo growing well, the other slowing or stopping, pulling down the HCG and causing chaotic numbers even when scans are reassuring.

Later that day, my HCG result came through: 9,509: only a 9% rise in 24 hours. Even with a vanishing twin scenario my HCG should be rising much more than 9% in 24hours. The clinic asked me to double my Dexamethasone (steroid) to see if suppressing my immune system further might help. They wanted me back the next day.

Close monitoring is a blessing and a curse. I should be reassured, but I feel anxious. Something isn’t adding up.

Daily cost: £50 for the blood test and £100 for the scan.

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Day Thirty-Eight

Another blood test. Another long wait. When the nurse finally called, my HCG had risen, but only by 10%. Hardly any improvement. They told me to stop Dexamethasone entirely, concerned they may have over-suppressed my immune system. I’d been on Dexamethasone for the first 12 weeks of pregnancy with my son, so stopping it this early felt unsettling - almost experimental.

They asked me to return on Monday, 3 days away, for bloods only. After being monitored daily, I was suddenly left on a cliff edge for the whole weekend.

I walked away with more questions than answers. For the first time, I regretted transferring two untested embryos. I’d chosen impatience over certainty. Had we tested and transferred a single euploid embryo, I wouldn’t be in this limbo now, unsure which embryo was rising, falling or failing.

Daily cost: £50 for the blood test.

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Days Thirty-Nine to Forty

The weekend was tough. My mind spiralled. I kept thinking I should have insisted on speaking to a doctor for some kind of clarity/explanation/reassurance. In desperation, I even fed all my numbers into AI software, but it only confirmed what I already suspected, offering zero reassurance.

You'd think the doctors must know exactly what’s going on, but the truth is, sometimes they don’t. HCG doesn’t always behave like it should. Sometimes there’s a clear explanation, sometimes there isn’t. My results so far aren’t normal or reassuring, so everything now depends on tomorrow. We need to see a proper rise, because if my HCG has fallen, it’s game over. Abnormal HCG trends, like very slow rises or plateaus, are more commonly seen in pregnancies that will miscarry, or are ectopic.

Late on Sunday night, I told my husband that I was going to ask for a scan in the morning. I had to know if the heartbeat was still there. Another small HCG rise wouldn’t bring clarity, and I couldn’t sit in that uncertainty any longer. I emailed the clinic, fully aware it probably wouldn’t be seen before I arrived at 7am, but at least my request was on record.

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Day Forty-One

Back to the clinic. The nurse hadn’t seen my email so I explained everything again. She nodded, grabbed my file and sprinted off to find a doctor. Minutes later she returned: “You can go straight in for a scan now.”

When I looked at the screen, I saw just one sac. It looked empty. My heart sank. Just as I was about to look away, the doctor zoomed in pointed out an embryo. There it was, tiny - measuring just 4.5mm, with a strong and steady flicker of a heartbeat. She moved the probe again, and a second sac appeared. It hadn’t vanished after all. In fact, it now showed a visible embryo. No heartbeat yet, but four days ago there’d been nothing to see at all. It was progressing.

In that moment, the vanishing twin theory no longer made complete sense. If this second embryo was still growing, even slowly — then why were my numbers falling? Rather than feeling reassured, my mind went the other way. I started to worry: maybe something is wrong with both embryo’s? It sounds awful to admit, but if the second embryo was truly a vanishing twin, then my low-rising HCG would make sense. It would give me an answer. I could anchor myself to the embryo with a heartbeat and settle into some sort of certainty. But the growth of the second embryo was a complete curveball.

Side note: not seeing a heartbeat at six weeks can be completely normal, it often doesn’t appear until closer to seven. However, given my HCG pattern and the fact that the second embryo is measuring smaller than expected, it’s likely to stop progressing.

When I discussed this with the doctor, she agreed with the theory but also suggested it might have implanted later and could simply be catching up. In her words, “who knows” — which says everything about how unpredictable this stage can be. I’ve also come to learn that doctors are deliberately cautious. They won’t promise anything they can’t be sure of.

Later, the call came: HCG up 56% in 72 hours. All things considered, that’s very positive. At this stage we’re completely off script, my situation is complex and unclear, so the only option is to take it day by day. The doctor told me to stay off Dexamethasone entirely. It now appears my immune system might have been over-suppressed by it. They also confirmed they’re stopping all HCG monitoring. Beyond six weeks, with a heartbeat seen, ultrasound alone becomes the gold standard.

Then came the part I really wasn’t ready for: they wanted me back next Wednesday for another scan. I actually had to clarify — did she mean in two days, or in nine? She confirmed: nine days. They clearly feel confident enough to leave it that long, which should reassure me — but it doesn’t. I still don’t fully understand what’s happening. The scans look promising, but my HCG is only just beginning to rise again, and that’s precisely when they’ve stopped monitoring it.

I’m going to have to try to stay positive — there’s nothing more I can do now. I’d love the clarity to calm my thoughts, but that simply isn’t possible at this stage, so I’ll have to focus on keeping busy in the meantime.

Luckily, it’s my son’s first birthday this weekend, and we’re hosting a little party — the perfect distraction. Balloons, cake, tiny party hats… the beautiful chaos of toddlers will leave no room for obsessing over HCG charts. It’s a reminder that whatever happens next, I already have one miracle in my arms. And that perspective, is what I’ll try to hold onto while I wait for the next scan.

Daily cost: £90 for the blood test and £100 for the scan.

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Day Fifty

Today is my 7 weeks and 2 days scan. In all honesty, this past week has been far easier than I expected. Hosting my son’s first birthday kept me busy enough that I didn’t have much time to overthink or spiral into worry. I’ve been utterly exhausted, which I thought might be an early pregnancy symptom, though I also caught a cold from my son, so it’s hard to tell what’s pregnancy and what’s just being run down.

When the doctor began the scan and I looked over at the screen, I saw the first sac, noticeably bigger than last week, which I knew immediately was a good sign. The doctor focused in on the embryo and there it was, a strong, steady heartbeat. Huge relief. The embryo measured 12.4mm, which is perfect for this stage, if anything a day or so ahead. To the side was a second sac, smaller and slightly collapsed in on itself. I think, deep down, I expected this. It was always the most likely outcome. Still, the thought that maybe it could catch up lingered in the back of my mind. After all, we’d recently stopped the steroid Dexamethasone, which the clinic suspected might have been over-suppressing my immune system, so I wondered if that embryo had simply been slower to develop.

When I mentioned my previously slow-to-rise HCG levels, the doctor nodded and said it made sense now, and it really did. Finally, some clarity and more confidence in the healthy embryo that remains. It’s a strange juxtaposition. I’ve technically miscarried, yet I’m also still pregnant. There’s a little sadness for the embryo that didn’t make it, but also peace in knowing that this is nature’s way of doing what it’s meant to do. It’s highly likely that the second embryo was chromosomally abnormal (aneuploid) and simply not viable. In my heart, I know this one little heartbeat is exactly what was meant to be.

A thought occurred to me last week about how Non-Invasive Prenatal Testing (NIPT) would work in a vanishing twin scenario. When we were pregnant with our son, we did the Panorama NIPT test at nine weeks, the earliest it can be done. It screens for Down's Syndrome and other structural anomalies. This time, however, because of the vanishing twin, we can’t proceed with NIPT at nine weeks. The DNA from the second embryo can still circulate in my bloodstream and give mixed results, so we’ll need to wait until at least twelve weeks, possibly longer. I asked the doctor whether it might be worth doing it early anyway and simply repeating it if the results were inconclusive, but he strongly advised against it, saying it would only cause unnecessary stress and uncertainty. So, we’ll wait. The same applies for early gender testing.

I completely understand that NIPT testing isn’t for everyone, but for me it offered comfort after such a long, uncertain road to motherhood. When you’ve experienced repeated disappointment, it’s easy for your mind to lean towards fear. Having something that brought a bit of certainty helped quieten that voice and reminded me to trust the process again.

For now, I’m filled with gratitude. One healthy heartbeat, one growing embryo, one huge sigh of relief. Today has been a really positive day, and statistically my position is strong, a reminder to breathe, trust, and keep moving forward with hope.

Daily cost: £40 for the blood test and £100 for the scan.

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Disclaimer: These posts reflect my personal IVF story. They’re not a substitute for professional medical advice. If you’re considering treatment, please speak with your doctor about what’s right for you.