#why does ivf fails

[artfertilityclinicsposts]

Fertility at Your Fingertips: A Roadmap to IVF and Male Infertility Solutions

Navigating the World of Fertility with ART Fertility Clinic

Welcome to the intricate and often perplexing realm of fertility. For many couples, the dream of conceiving a child becomes an elusive puzzle, leaving them with a sea of questions, concerns, and, occasionally, a sense of burstiness in their hopes. In this article, we'll embark on a journey to explore the signs of male infertility, its symptoms, and delve into the intricacies of IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) as a solution. We'll also address the pain factor associated with IVF, reasons for its occasional failure, and guide you to ART Fertility Clinic, a leading IVF center in India.

Signs of Male Infertility: Decoding the Clues

Is It More Than Just Bad Luck?

Male infertility can be perplexing, as it often remains hidden beneath the surface. In many cases, the symptoms aren't as conspicuous as one might think. So, what are the signs of male infertility?

Low Sperm Count: A drop in sperm count is a glaring sign. But how do you recognize it? Signs include difficulty conceiving after a year of trying, ejaculation issues, or a decreased volume of ejaculate.

Quality Matters: Burstiness in sperm quality can be just as crucial. If the sperm have an irregular shape or impaired motility, it becomes more challenging for them to reach their destination - the egg.

Sexual Dysfunction: Erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, or other sexual dysfunctions can also be signs of male infertility, making it an emotional journey for couples.

Understanding Oligospermia: A Closer Look at the Symptoms

The Whispering Oligospermia

Oligospermia is a specific condition where the sperm count is too low to facilitate fertilization effectively. The signs of oligospermia often go unnoticed, creating a sense of perplexity among couples.

Sparse Ejaculate: If you notice that your ejaculate is relatively thin and the volume is significantly lower than average, it could be a sign of oligospermia.

Infrequent Ejaculation: Burstiness in the frequency of ejaculation can be indicative of this condition. If you find yourself ejaculating rarely, it might be time to consult a specialist.

Sexual Issues: Frequent erectile dysfunction or pain during ejaculation can also be associated with oligospermia, making it a hidden villain in the quest for parenthood.

IVF: The Solution to Male Infertility

The IVF Lifeline

When natural conception faces repeated failures or is seemingly impossible due to male infertility, In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) often emerges as the ray of hope. But is IVF painful, and why does it sometimes fail?

Is IVF Painful?

The idea of IVF may seem daunting, but it's essential to understand that discomfort is a part of the journey, not necessarily extreme pain. IVF is a multi-step process, and each step varies in terms of discomfort. Women may experience some discomfort during egg retrieval, but it is usually managed with mild anesthesia. The overall emotional journey can be painful, yet the end result - the possibility of having a child - often makes it worth the challenges.

The Complexity of IVF Failures

IVF can be incredibly successful, but it can also lead to disappointments. Why do multiple IVF attempts sometimes fail? This is where burstiness in understanding IVF's intricate dynamics comes into play. Various factors can contribute to IVF failures, including:

Embryo Quality: The quality of the embryos used plays a significant role. Not all embryos have the same potential for success.

Maternal Age: The age of the woman undergoing IVF can affect the chances of success. Women over the age of 35 may have reduced fertility.

Lifestyle Factors: Lifestyle choices, such as smoking, alcohol consumption, and obesity, can impact IVF outcomes.

Medical Conditions: Underlying medical conditions, such as PCOS or endometriosis, can complicate the IVF process.

Stress and Emotional Factors: The emotional toll of the process can sometimes interfere with its success. Reducing stress and maintaining a positive outlook can make a significant difference.

ART Fertility Clinic: Your Path to Parenthood

A Beacon of Hope in India

If you find yourself at the crossroads of male infertility and the challenging path of IVF, consider seeking help from a reliable IVF clinic. ART Fertility Clinic is a beacon of hope in India, offering comprehensive fertility solutions with a focus on individualized care.

Cutting-Edge Technology: ART Fertility Clinic is equipped with state-of-the-art technology to ensure the best possible outcomes for its patients. The clinic stays updated with the latest advancements in the field, reducing the burstiness associated with older, less effective techniques.

Experienced Specialists: The clinic boasts a team of highly experienced specialists who have successfully helped numerous couples achieve their dream of parenthood.

Personalized Care: Understanding that each individual's fertility journey is unique, ART Fertility Clinic provides personalized treatment plans tailored to your specific needs.

Supportive Environment: Dealing with infertility can be emotionally challenging. The clinic offers a supportive and empathetic environment to help you navigate this difficult journey.

Transparent Process: You'll never feel lost in the complex world of IVF. The clinic ensures that you understand each step of the process, from diagnosis to treatment.

Conclusion: A Path to Parenthood

Navigating the realm of fertility, male infertility, and IVF may seem perplexing, but it doesn't have to be an insurmountable puzzle. By recognizing the signs of male infertility and understanding the potential solutions, including IVF, you can take the first step towards realizing your dream of parenthood. Remember, IVF might not be entirely painless, and it can be a complex journey, but with the right clinic and support, success is within reach. ART Fertility Clinic in India is here to guide you through the process, offering a roadmap to parenthood, one step at a time.

[purplereina11]

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

You and Alexia try to start a family

The honeymoon phase of marriage is supposed to be blissful. And in many ways, it still is. But beneath the laughter, the lazy mornings wrapped in each other, the quiet home you’ve built—there’s a weight neither of you can quite shake.

The kind that lingers in the silence after another negative test. The kind that makes Alexia pull you tighter against her at night, even when neither of you speak about it. The kind that makes every hopeful what if? turn into not yet. It’s been months now—long, hopeful, painful months.

The first round of IVF started on your first wedding anniversary had been a whirlwind of emotions excitement, nerves, the belief that surely, surely, it would happen right away. That you’d see the two lines on the test, that Alexia would pick you up and spin you around, that you’d call Eli and Alba with tears of joy instead of frustration.

But the first round had ended in disappointment.

The second? Worse.

Because this time, you’d convinced yourselves that the first was just bad luck. That this time would be different. That this time would be the one. But it wasn’t. And now—now it’s just hard.

You’re in the bathroom, staring down at the test on the counter. Another single line. Another no. Another month lost. Your throat tightens, your hands gripping the sink as you swallow back the sting of disappointment. You knew it was a possibility. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get your hopes up this time. But hope is a dangerous thing. A small knock on the door makes you tense. You already know who it is.

“Mi amor…” Alexia’s voice is soft, hesitant. She’s been waiting outside since you’d taken the test, giving you space but also aching to know. You can’t bring yourself to answer. The door opens slowly, and then she’s there, your wife, the love of your life, the person who always seems to hold you together. Except—she’s struggling too.

You see it in the way her eyes flicker to the test on the counter, in the way her shoulders drop, in the way she exhales too slowly, like she’s forcing herself to stay strong. She meets your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you say a word. You break. A soft, strangled sob slips out before you can stop it, and in an instant, Alexia is there, wrapping you up in her arms, holding you so tight it’s like she’s trying to physically keep you from shattering.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whisper against her shoulder, voice trembling. “I don’t—”

“Nothing,” she cuts in, her own voice thick. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You clutch onto her, burying yourself in her warmth, her safety. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, pressing a firm kiss to your hair. “Because it hurts, mi amor.”

And that’s the truth.

It hurts.

More than you ever thought it would. You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped in each other, breathing through the ache. Eventually, Alexia leans back, her hands coming up to cradle your face. “We keep trying,” she murmurs. “Because this isn’t the end. This isn’t where our story stops.” You nod, sniffling, pressing into the touch. She tilts her forehead against yours. “One day, we’re going to look back on this and know that every step, every tear, every heartbreak led us to them.” You let out a shaky breath. Because you believe her. Because despite everything, despite the no’s, the failed rounds, the disappointment, one thing remains unshaken. Hope. And as long as you have that, as long as you have her, you know you’re going to get through this. Together.

The third round felt different. You tried not to let yourselves believe it too much tried to temper the hope, to not let it bloom too fully in case it got crushed again. But when you saw that second line on the pregnancy test, everything else disappeared. The breath left your lungs. Your hands trembled as you held the test in front of you, staring at it, disbelieving.

A positive.

You laughed, you sobbed, you dropped to your knees on the bathroom floor, clutching the tiny plastic stick like it was the most precious thing in the world. Alexia wasn’t home she was away with Barcelona, an away game in Madrid. You ached to tell her in person, to see her face when she realised what this meant, so you decided to wait, to surprise her when she got home.

For 48 hours, you carried this secret like a treasure, your hands instinctively resting over your belly, whispering to the tiny life growing inside you, promising them that they were already so loved.

Then came the blood.

At first, it was just a little. Barely anything. You told yourself it was normal, that implantation bleeding happens, that some women experience spotting in early pregnancy. But by the next morning, it was more. Too much. And suddenly, that hope you had tried so hard to hold onto was slipping through your fingers like sand. Alexia wasn’t home yet. You didn’t tell her. Not yet. Instead, you called the clinic, booked a scan for when she’d be back. You spent the hours alone in quiet dread, curled up in bed, one hand pressed over your stomach, whispering desperate prayers to someone, anyone, please let this be okay.

Alexia came home exhausted, jet-lagged from travel, but thrilled to finally see you. The moment she stepped through the door, she grinned, pulling you into her arms. "Mi amor, I missed you so much."

You let yourself melt into her warmth, gripping her tightly, so tightly it made her pause, her hands moving to cup your face.

“What is it?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You inhaled sharply, blinking back the tears. “Alexia, I—” Your voice cracked. And instantly, her entire demeanour shifted. Concern, fear, flickered in her eyes as she guided you to the couch, hands never leaving you.

“What happened?”

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look at her. “I… I took a test whilst you were away”

Her breath hitched. Her lips parted, eyes widening, searching your face for confirmation. “You—” Tears welled up in her eyes before she could even form a full thought, her hands trembling as they moved to your stomach.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” you whispered. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alexia’s throat bobbed, her smile so tender, so full of love, it broke your heart all over again.

“It was positive, but, Lex… I—I think something’s wrong.”

The words shattered the moment. Her face dropped, hands freezing over your belly. You told her about the bleeding, about the appointment. Her hands gripped yours, her jaw tightening, the familiar fire of her determination burning behind her eyes. “Then we go,” she said, already reaching for her keys.

The clinic was cold. You sat in the exam room, Alexia’s hand gripping yours tightly, her thumb stroking over your skin, grounding you.

“I’m so sorry.” The words cut through you like a blade. The doctor’s voice was gentle, but the words were brutal. Final. “There’s no heartbeat.”

Silence. You felt Alexia tense beside you, felt the way her breath hitched, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t look at anything except the blank screen where there should have been life. The tears came fast. Unstoppable. Your whole body trembled as the weight of it crashed down on you, pressing against your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Alexia was instantly pulling you into her, arms tight, like she could physically hold you together as you crumbled. “Mi amor, mi amor,” she whispered against your temple, her voice breaking.

You sobbed into her shoulder, hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie so tightly your knuckles ached. It wasn’t fair. You’d done everything right. And still—still, it wasn’t enough.

That night, you didn’t leave your bed, you got home skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Alexia stayed with you, her body wrapped around yours, arms keeping you pressed against her chest as you cried yourself raw. And the weight of letting her down, it left unsaid.

She inhaled sharply, like the words physically wounded her. “Baby…”

Her hand cradled the back of your head, her lips pressing desperately against your hair. You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest unbearable.

Alexia swallowed thickly, her grip on you tightening. “I know,” she whispered. “I know, mi amor.” You felt her shake against you, felt the silent tears dampen your hair as she held you, as she broke with you. And then, through the thick silence, she whispered, “Whatever you need… however we move forward… I’m with you.”

You buried yourself further into her, needing her warmth, her strength. Because in this moment, you weren’t sure how to move forward. You weren’t sure if you could. All you knew was the pain. The loss. And the arms that held you through it.

Grief changes people. For you, it made everything feel heavy. The world moved on, but you felt like you were stuck, stuck in the loss, in the what could have been, in the endless questions you asked yourself every night when Alexia was fast asleep beside you. And for Alexia? It made her watch you.

She didn’t smother you, didn’t overwhelm you with empty reassurances. But you saw it—the way her eyes lingered on you when she thought you weren’t looking, the way she held you just a little tighter at night, the way she flinched when she woke up to find you staring at the ceiling, lost in your own mind.

She was waiting for you to break. And that’s what hurt the most. Because you knew she was hurting too. You knew she wanted this just as much as you did, but she never let herself be selfish about it. She never asked if you wanted to try again. Never brought up doctors or options or hope. Because she had heard you that night without you evening saying a word.

She had listened and instead of pushing, she had chosen to protect you. Even when it broke her. But you couldn’t live like this. Not with the weight of guilt pressing against your ribs, not with the way Alexia dimmed in a way you had never seen before. And so, you made a choice.

One last time. If it worked—if the universe was finally kind—then you both got everything you wanted. And if it didn’t? Then Alexia never had to know. She never had to relive the pain. The decision settled in your chest like a secret you had to keep. 

You were going to try again for your wife, for everything she always wanted, the thing it seemed you couldn’t give her.

You booked the appointments quietly, slipping out on days when Alexia was at training or away for matches. Every injection, every test, every agonising waiting period—you went through it all alone. It was terrifying. Without her. But more than that it was hopeful. For the first time in months, you felt like you were fighting for something instead of drowning in loss.

You imagined what it would be like to tell Alexia. Imagined her face when she found out. Imagined how it would feel to finally say, ‘It worked. We did it.’

Then, one morning, standing in the bathroom, hands trembling as you held a test between your fingers

Two lines.

A positive.

Your breath caught, your vision blurred, your whole body shook. It had worked. It worked. You pressed a hand over your mouth, choking back a sob as the realisation slammed into you.

You were optimistic with a realism that you had been here before.

Alexia comes home later than usual. You hear the sound of the front door unlocking, the familiar shuffle of her boots as she kicks them off in the hallway. The deep sigh she lets out, the kind she always does after an exhausting training session.

But you don’t move. You can’t. You sat on the couch, staring at the TV, trying to look natural while your heart hammered in your chest.

She was still in her training gear, her hair slightly damp from her post-session shower, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder. And as always she came to find you and when she did. A soft smile pulled at her lips, tired but full of love, as she crossed the room toward you.

She had dropped her bag somewhere near the door, leaned down, and kissed you once. Then again. Then once more for good measure. “Hola, mi amor,” she murmured against your lips. “Missed you.”

You smiled, your stomach twisting with nerves. “Missed you too.”

Alexia hummed, straightening up as she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m starving,” she groaned, already heading toward the kitchen.

You still feigning nonchalance. “Food in the fridge for you, I ate earlier i was hungry”

She grinned, disappearing into the kitchen. And then you waited. The familiar sounds started, the fridge opening, the scrape of a cup, the soft clatter of cutlery and then silence. Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, slow, deliberate footsteps. When Alexia stepped back into the living room, she wasn’t holding her food. She was holding the five pregnancy tests you had left for her on the counter, all lined up neatly, undeniable in their results.

Her expression was unreadable—her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked from the tests to you, then back to the tests.

“Mi amor…?” Her voice was so soft, so shaky, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Your stomach twisted, your breath catching. You tried to speak—really, you did—but all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion. Alexia blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, as if she needed to be sure, she slowly lifted one of the tests closer to her face, rereading the little plus sign, as if the result might somehow change.

Her breath shuddered. Her fingers trembled. She looked back at you. And in the softest, most disbelieving whisper “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded, “I took five to be sure” As Alexia sits down, her fingers still curled around the positive test, you see the shift. The happiness spreads to raw emotion as she swatted away at her tears as you moved to put her arms around her, her hand ran up and down your thigh, “I don’t know how to feel either” You whisper

“I’m happy. I’m so happy but.. I don’t want to get ahead of myself”

You nod, “We’ve been here before”

Alexia looked to you her eyes scanning over your face, “If this wasn’t positive, would I of ever known you’d done another round of IVF?” Your silence told her the answer, “Never do that again, please. I want to be involved not for the baby for you, I meant my vows mi amor I want to be there for the good and the bad, and the thought of you going through another loss alone tears me apart”

You peck her lips, “I’m sorry, I can see your hurting, I can see your breaking Lex and you’re trying to be strong for me, and I just.. I want to make you happy. And I feel the only thing I can give you is a baby and I can’t even get that right”

“Hey” Alexia turned her body fully to you, “No. Baby or not. I love you. You are my wife. I didn’t fall in love with you and marry you for you to give me a baby Y/N. Don’t ever think I think or feel less of you because this isn’t working for us.” You nodded and she cupped your face, “We stay cautiously optimistic ok? You’re pregnant” she let herself smile, “And that’s incredible, but we don’t get ahead of ourselves”

You nodded, pecking her lips, “Don’t call me Y/N again” Alexia chuckled you put your finger over her lips, “It’s Mi Amor or silence”

“Yes Mi Amor” You kissed each other lips moving in perfect synchronicity, “It’s positive”

You both giggled, “I know.” You looked to your stomach, “There’s a little baby in there”

“We’re doing what we literally just said we wouldn’t”

—

The drive to the clinic is quiet. Not because you and Alexia don’t have anything to say, but because neither of you can find the words. You sit in the passenger seat, hands clasped tightly over your stomach, trying to steady your breathing. You can feelAlexia glance at you every few seconds, her fingers twitching on the steering wheel like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t want to take her eyes off the road.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. “You okay?” You nod, but your throat is too tight to answer properly. Alexia sighs, her free hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I know,” she murmurs. “Me too.” Because this moment—the space between knowing and really knowing—is the most terrifying part. You want to believe it. You want to let yourself hope. But you’ve been here before.

The clinic is just as you remember it—too bright, too clinical, too full of possibilities. Alexia never lets go of your hand as you check in, as you’re led down the hallway, as you settle onto the exam table.  

The nurse smiles warmly at you both. “You’re here for an early scan?”  

You nod, swallowing thickly. “We just… we just want to make sure everything’s okay.”  

She nods in understanding, her smile never wavering. “That’s completely normal. You’ve been through a lot to get here.”  

Alexia shifts beside you, her grip tightening on your fingers. “Is it too early to see anything?” she asks, her voice steady but her eyes uncertain.  

The nurse shakes her head. “At this stage, we won’t see much, but we will be able to check for a heartbeat.”  

A heartbeat. You exhale shakily, your chest tightening. 

The nurse prepares the ultrasound, and Alexia presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering, “I’m right here.”  

The cool gel on your stomach makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way your whole body tenses as the probe moves across your skin. The room is silent for a moment.  

You hold your breath. Alexia holds you.  

And then—  

A sound.  

Faint at first. A soft, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.  

Your chest cracks open. Alexia sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide.  

“There it is,” the nurse says gently. “A very strong heartbeat.”  

You don’t realise you’re crying until Alexia lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a firm kiss against your knuckles. She’s crying too. The nurse adjusts the screen slightly, pointing to a tiny, barely visible speck. “There’s your baby.”  

Your baby.  

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, your free hand instinctively moving toward your stomach. “They’re so small.”  

Alexia breathes out a choked laugh. “They’re there.”  

The nurse nods, smiling at you both. “Everything looks good. Strong heartbeat, early signs are all positive. I know it’s still early, but this is a great start.”  

A great start.  

You turn to Alexia, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “We did it.”  

She swallows thickly, her forehead pressing against yours. “You did it.”  

For the first time in a long, long time you let yourself believe it.

At first, neither of you spoke about the future much just one day at a time, one quiet milestone at a time. But then things kept going well. Your symptoms came on strong, morning sickness, exhaustion, all the usual things, but you welcomed every wave of nausea, every sleepless night, because it meant the pregnancy was progressing.

And then, around 12 weeks, a tiny bump started to show. Only noticeable in the mornings and evenings, but it was there, signs of growth. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Alexia noticed immediately. From that moment on, she was obsessed. Every morning before she left for training, her hand would drift under your shirt, fingers ghosting over your stomach, a tiny, unconscious smile playing at her lips.

Every night before bed, she’d lie beside you, palm resting just below your navel, warmth seeping through your skin. She touched you like she needed to. Like every moment she wasn’t touching you, she might forget this was really happening.

But it wasn’t just your stomach she was obsessed with. Your body was changing in more ways than one. And Alexia noticed. Of course, she knew your body better than you did.

One evening, as you changed into pyjamas, you caught her staring in the mirror. Her arms were crossed, her lips slightly parted, very clearly focused on something other than your stomach.  

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so obvious.”  

She smirked, stepping behind you, her hands immediately cupping your breasts from behind, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m just… appreciating,” she murmured, lips pressing against your neck.  

You groaned, swatting her hands away halfheartedly. “They hurt, Lex.”  

She hummed, not even remotely deterred. “They’re just bigger” she mused, her hands lingering, her thumbs brushing over you lightly. “And sensitive.”  

You shot her a glare through the mirror. “Exactly. So hands off.”  

She pouted but finally let go, sighing dramatically. “I don’t know if I should be honoured or offended by how unfair pregnancy is to me.”  

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you have it tough?”  

She nodded, lips twitching. “Yes. I have to suffer through your boobs getting bigger and not getting to enjoy them.”  

You smacked her arm, laughing. “You’re impossible.”  

She smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “But you love me.”  

You sighed against her, already melting. “Unfortunately.”  

She grinned, hands sliding back down to where your bump was showing, but it could have been the biggest bowl of paella Alexia gave you. “And I love you.”  

You hummed. “And my boobs.”  

“That too.” 

Alexia’s hands remained firm on your stomach, fingers tracing gentle patterns over the slight curve of your stomach. Her eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror, full of mischief, adoration, and something else—something unmistakably hungry. You knew this look. You also knew that once Alexia decided she wanted something, she wouldn’t stop until she got it.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You are impossible.”

She hummed against your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. “I just think,” she murmured, her hands moving just slightly under your shirt, her palms flat against your warm skin, “that we should celebrate.”

You arched an eyebrow, though your resolve was already crumbling. “Celebrate what, exactly?”

She smirked, her lips brushing against your jaw. “That you’re growing our baby,” she whispered, her voice low, reverent. “That I get to love you like this. That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

A shiver ran down your spine at her words. Damn her. Damn her and her hands and her mouth and the way she could make you melt with nothing more than a whisper. You exhaled shakily. “Alexia—”

“Mmm?” She feigned innocence, but her fingers were already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. “Too much?”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you leaned into her touch. She grinned, sensing your resolve slipping, her thumbs drawing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

“I just want to touch you,” she murmured against your ear, her voice sending warmth flooding through your body. “Let me?”

And how could you say no when she sounded like that? When she looked at you like you were her entire world? You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before finally turning in her arms, your hands moving up to cup her face. “I hate you,” you muttered, though there was no weight to it.

Alexia grinned. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, she closed the gap between you, her lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different—slower, deeper, filled with something heavier than just desire. Love. Worship. Alexia kissed you like she was memorising you, like she needed to show you everything she felt because words would never be enough. And as her hands moved to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, you let her. You let yourself fall. Because no matter how impossible she was yours.

Alexia’s hands moved deliberately, reverently, over your waist, her touch slow and exploratory. There was no rush—just the warmth of her fingertips, the way she cupped your body like she was memorising every new curve, every change, every part of you that had shifted since the pregnancy began.

Her lips trailed down your neck, lingering, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured against your skin, her voice hushed, full of something almost worshipful.

Your breath hitched as her hands slid higher, her thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts, testing, waiting.

You exhaled shakily, biting your lip. “They’re sensitive,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

Alexia hummed in understanding, her gaze flicking up to yours as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, nodding once. That was all she needed. Her fingers curled gently around your curves, her thumbs pressing feather-light circles into the tender skin. The sensation sent a warmth rippling through you—too much and not enough all at once.

“Dios mío,” Alexia whispered, her voice thick with awe. “So full. So soft.”

A whimper slipped from your lips when her thumbs brushed over your nipples, the sensitivity making your breath stutter. She smirked at your reaction, her touch turning slightly firmer, her lips following, pressing kisses along the swell of your breast before flicking her tongue out, teasing, exploring. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. “Alexia,” you gasped, your body pressing into her, already feeling consumed by her touch, her warmth, the way she devoured you without hurry, without urgency—just pure, unfiltered adoration.

She chuckled against your skin, her breath warm, teasing. “Mmm, I love hearing you say my name like that.”

You tugged her hair harder, making her groan. Her hands slid down to your hips, gripping, holding you steady as she continued her slow, intoxicating assault. Every flick of her tongue, every press of her lips, every gentle squeeze sent a new wave of pleasure washing over you, pulling you under with her. She wasn’t just touching you. She was worshiping you. Loving every new part of you. Every change. Every sign of the life you were growing together. And in this moment—wrapped in her arms, completely undone by her love, her devotion—you had never felt more cherished.

Alexia took her time, her touch slow, deliberate—like she was learning everything about you all over again. Her lips never left your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down the curve of your breasts, her breath warm against your already sensitive skin.

You had always known her to be patient, controlled, but tonight she was reverent.

She whispered against your skin, her voice husky. “I love how your body is changing,” she murmured, her hands sliding along your sides, tracing every new curve, every inch of softness. “I love you.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your already sensitive peaks, her thumbs circling, teasing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight through you. Your body reacted immediately—back arching, breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach. She smirked at the effect she had on you, her hands steady, her eyes dark with something intense, something undeniable.

You whined softly, your grip on her tightening. “Alexia—”

She hummed, dipping her head lower, her lips brushing over the swell of your breast before capturing you fully. The sensation sent a deep shiver through you, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. She knew you were sensitive, knew exactly what it did to you, and yet—she didn’t stop. She worshiped you, her touch, her mouth, her hands moving in perfect rhythm, coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips. Every flick of her tongue, every teasing squeeze, every gentle pull sent you spiralling, climbing. And she knew. She could feel it. The way your breath hitched. The way your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close. The way your body arched into her, desperate for more. She smiled against your skin, her voice full of heat. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding, the pressure coiling impossibly tight inside you. She didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. She just stayed with you, guiding you, coaxing you, until the tension finally broke—pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you shaking in her arms. She held you through it, whispering soft, soothing words against your skin, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her hands never leaving you. “Always.”

And as you slowly came down, body still tingling, heart still racing, you let out a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re so smug right now.”

Alexia grinned, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips. “Of course I am,” she teased. “I made you come by playing with your boobs.”

You sighed, melting into her, completely boneless. And in that moment, wrapped in her arms, her warmth, her love You knew. You were hers. Completely.

You thought morning sickness meant… well, mornings. You were wrong.

It’s relentless—unforgiving in the way it rolls through you in waves, taking with it your appetite, your patience, and any desire to even look at food. It hits you the hardest first thing, the moment you open your eyes. But it doesn’t stop there. By mid-afternoon, it circles back, and by evening, you're utterly drained, your body heavy with fatigue, your stomach rebelling against anything you try to keep down.

Even water feels like a gamble some days. And it’s starting to wear on you. Alexia tries to keep things as normal as possible, but you know she’s worried. She hovers without hovering, always within reach—bringing toast in the mornings, holding your hair when things get bad, Googling every possible morning sickness remedy known to mankind.

You’re curled on the couch today, blanket wrapped around you, a half-finished cup of ginger tea sitting cold on the coffee table.

Alexia pads in from the kitchen, holding a small plate with dry crackers and a hopeful expression.

“They said plain is best,” she offers gently, crouching down beside you. “Want to try?” You stare at the crackers like they’ve personally wronged you. She smirks, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

You let out a soft groan, burying your face in the blanket. “I hate this. I hate this part.”

Alexia’s fingers trail lightly along your forehead. “I know, mi amor. I wish I could take it from you.”

“I wish anyone could take it from me.” She sits on the edge of the couch, gently pulling you into her lap until your head rests against her shoulder, her arms wrapping tightly around you.

You sigh heavily, your voice muffled in her shirt. “I’m so tired of throwing up. I can’t even smell toast without wanting to cry.”

Alexia laughs softly, rubbing your back. “You did cry yesterday. Because of a banana.”

“It was rude,” you mutter.

She kisses the top of your head. “You’re growing a human. I think you’re allowed to be dramatic about fruit.”

You smile faintly, eyes fluttering closed as you rest in the safety of her arms. “I just… I didn’t expect to feel this bad.”

Alexia tightens her hold on you, her cheek resting against your temple. “You don’t have to be strong through all of it, you know? You’re allowed to hate it. You’re allowed to complain. You’re allowed to feel everything.”

You nod slowly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I just feel useless.”

“You’re the opposite of useless,” she says immediately, without hesitation. “You’re doing something I can’t. You’re carrying our baby. That’s everything.”

You let the words sink in, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes—but this time not from nausea. “Okay,” you whisper. “But if I ever eat again, it’s going to be something deeply unhealthy.”

Alexia chuckles, nuzzling her nose into your hair. “Done. Ice cream for dinner. As soon as your stomach stops being an asshole.” You laugh softly—tired, aching, but loved. Because even when your body is rebelling against you, even when all you’ve managed to keep down today is a cracker and three sips of tea, Alexia holds you like you’re doing the most incredible thing in the world. And deep down… you know you are.

Dinner with Alba and Eli had sounded like a great idea when Alexia suggested it. Something warm, something normal—just the four of you, catching up, laughing, letting the world feel simple again, if only for a few hours. But as you stand in the kitchen, clinging to the edge of the counter, willing yourself not to vomit from the smell of the garlic sizzling in the pan, you're starting to deeply question your judgment.

Alexia catches your pale, sweaty reflection in the glass oven door and immediately steps in. She slides a hand across your back, firm and grounding, her other hand moving to take the wooden spoon from your fingers. “Go sit down,” she murmurs gently. “I’ve got this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. You’re already lightheaded by the time you curl up on the couch, clutching a glass of water like it might save your life. Just as you let your head rest back, the doorbell rings.

You and Alexia lock eyes for a moment. She gives you a soft, knowing look—a we’ve got this kind of look—before she wipes her hands and goes to let them in. Alba is the first to storm in, dramatic as ever, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a baguette in the other. “Hola, família! I brought carbs and chaos!”

Eli follows with a softer smile, always warm, always perceptive. But the second they both spot you on the couch—pale, tired, wrapped in a blanket like you’re clinging to the edge of consciousness—their moods shift.

Alba slows to a stop, narrowing her eyes. “Whoa. Are you okay? You look like… shit.”

You muster the weakest smile you can manage. “Thanks, Alba.”

Eli, more gently, sets her bag down and moves closer. “Mi amor, you’re so pale. Are you sick?”

Alexia walks in quickly, too casually, drying her hands on a towel. “She’s okay. She’s just had a stomach bug all week. It’s been rough, but she’s getting through it.”

You nod, adding, “It’s the worst flu I’ve ever had. Won’t go away.”

Alba makes a face. “You’ve had it for a week? That’s not normal. Have you gone to a doctor?”

Alexia sits beside you, sliding a subtle hand over your knee under the blanket. “She’s been seen. They said it just has to run its course.”

“Well,” she finally says, smiling as she moves to the kitchen, “then you sit and rest, and we’ll take care of everything else.”

Alba follows her, still suspicious. “If I catch this mystery flu, I swear…”

As soon as they’re out of the room, you turn to Alexia and whisper, “Do they know?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“She was watching me like I was hiding a second head.”

Alexia leans in, brushing her nose against your temple. “You are hiding something. A very tiny someone.”

You smile faintly. “I hate lying to them.”

“I know. But it’s just for now. Until we’re sure everything’s ok.”

You nod slowly, laying your head on her shoulder. “Okay. Just a little longer.” And as Eli and Alba clatter around in the kitchen, making dinner, laughing like nothing is amiss, you sit quietly on the couch—tired, nauseous, nervous— But wrapped in your wife’s arms. And still full of the quietest kind of joy.

[mercurycft]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐖

## the bubble universe - leah x reader !!

hi everyone!! jeeeeez its been a while - back with some more fluffy writing! ive decided to create something called ‘the bubble universe’ where all of these fluffy fics i write will all intertwine with eachother within this universe! you can find this one & other related ones under the ‘bubble universe’ section of my masterlist! i’ve finally finished uni! everyone say congrats ru! so you guys can have my full attention again! missed you all so much - this one is a longgggg one! i hope you love reading it like i enjoyed writing it! love always - RGx

find THE BUBBLE UNIVERSE! — here

fluff and angst at times, no major warnings besides quite heavy details of IVF and fertility treatments - alongside failed fertility treatments, as well as relationship impacts and heavy emotions but also loved-up-ness. also not proof read bc fuck that.

5.8k words.

you don’t really mean to bring it up. it’s just one of those days; you’re curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket over your knees, a half-drunk cup of tea going cold on the table, and leah’s feet resting lazily in your lap. the telly’s on but neither of you are really watching it. you’re both too comfortable in the quiet, too used to each other to need constant conversation. every few minutes your eyes drift from your phone screen and up to the telly, watching absentmindedly as women and midwives scramble around the screen. you’re lost in the tv when leah shifts slightly, toes pressing into your thigh in that unintentional way she always does, and something bubbles up from your chest. maybe it’s been there for a while, tucked behind your ribs, but it feels new when it finally comes out.

“do you ever think about when we’ll actually... start?” you ask, not looking at her. your thumb traces a loose thread in the blanket.

there’s a pause. then she moves her foot and sits up properly, like she hears the weight in your voice and knows it deserves her full attention.

“start what, baby?” she asks, even though you both know what you mean. you shrug, still not meeting her eyes. 

“ivf. the baby. all of it.” it goes quiet again for a second, but not in a bad way. you can hear her breathing, slow and steady. then she scoots closer, pulling your hand into hers.

“i think about it all the time,” she says softly. 

your eyes prick before you can stop them. it’s silly; you’re the one who said it first, after all. but hearing her say that, that she’s been thinking about it too, like she’s been waiting... it hits something deep in your chest, something that’s been hiding in the pits of your stomach for longer than you care to recall. you nod quickly, like you’re trying to shake the tears away, but your voice cracks anyway. “i don’t know why it makes me so emotional. i just, I want it. so much. and i’m scared.” leah doesn’t flinch. she just brings your joined hands up to her lips and kisses your knuckles, one by one.

“of course you’re scared. it’s a big deal, making a whole human.” her smile is soft. “but we’re gonna do it together. and we don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

you rest your head on her shoulder, letting her warmth soak into you. leah hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning your face as she listens to the way you try and regain your ability to breathe calmly. “we don’t have to rush. we’re engaged, not on a timer.”

you laugh wetly, pulling back just enough to look at her. “you’re so annoyingly calm about this.” she grins, brushing your cheek with the back of her hand. 

“one of us has to be. you cry at ‘call the midwife’.”

“shut up,” you mumble, but you’re smiling now too. it doesn’t solve everything. you still have questions, decisions to make, a whole unknown ahead of you. but for now, leah wraps her arm around you and tucks you into her side, and it feels a little more possible. like maybe, just maybe, this is the start of the ball rolling. 

━━━━━━

you don’t talk about it again for a while.

not because you don’t want to, not really, but life just sort of.. rolls over you, like it always does.

the season wraps up, which means leah’s schedule is all over the place. interviews, events, charity dinners, flying back and forth for end-of-year bits with the club. you get pulled into family things too, your sister’s moving house, your cousin’s baby shower (which is a whole thing on its own), and your mum keeps roping you into “quick” errands that always turn into all-day excursions. the days blur into heat and trains and too much coffee. leah’s home but not really home, you pass each other in the kitchen, in bed, quick kisses and quiet I love yous before sleep eats you both alive. it’s not bad. just busy. loud. life-y.

but then one night, weeks and months after the initial conversation, your mind reels again. truth be told it hadn’t stopped since you first discussed it, the thought always in the back of your mind. tonight the thought feels different though, not scary or intimidating, just there. you’re folding laundry at the end of the bed, back to leah and trying to make sense of the mismatched socks and crumpled t-shirts, the way leah somehow manages to wear three jumpers in a day when she’s home even in summer.

she’s laid out across the mattress behind you, one arm thrown over her eyes, hair still damp from her shower. every so often she hums at a song on the playlist, but mostly she’s quiet. soft. the kind of quiet you only get when you’re really comfortable. safe. you fold one of her hoodies and pause, hands hovering, then glance over your shoulder.

“i’ve been thinking about calling the doctors,” you say. it’s casual, like you’re commenting on the weather, but your heart thuds anyway. leah doesn’t move at first. then her arm shifts, and she turns her head toward you.

“yeah?” her voice is low, gentle.

you nod, eyes back on the laundry now. “just… to start the process. maybe ask some questions. get a sense of what it’d actually look like. i don’t know.” you feel the bed shift, and then her arms are around your waist from behind, her chin resting between your shoulder blades. she’s warm, her breath steady where it touches the cotton of your shirt.

“that sounds like a good idea,” she murmurs. “you been thinking about it a lot?”

“yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “i know we haven’t talked about it for a while, and we’ve both been too busy to properly talk about it again, but- but it’s been on my mind. not in a pressured way, just.. there. all the time. kind of like, when you want something and you’re trying not to scare it off.”

leah nods against your back. “i get that.”

you place the last shirt onto the pile beside you and let out a breath, leaning into her arms. “i just don’t want to wait forever, you know? i want time. i want to give us room for it to be messy. in case it doesn’t work the first time. or the second.”

she’s quiet for a long moment, then she presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “i want that too.”

you turn in her arms so you’re facing her now, kneeling a little on the bed as she sits back on her heels. she’s watching you in that way she does sometimes, eyes kind and open, like she’s holding space just for you.

“so maybe this week,” you say. “maybe i call. just to see what’s what.”

“i’ll come with you,” leah says, immediate and certain.

“to the call?”

you both share a few confused and breathy laughs, leah leans forward, rests her forehead against yours. “no, idiot. to whatever comes after.” 

your chest tightens, but in a warm way this time, like something is settling into place.

“okay,” you whisper.

and leah kisses you, slow and steady, like there’s all the time in the world.

because maybe now, there is.

━━━━━━

it’s been about a month since you made the call.

a real, grown-up, shaky-voiced call to the gp to ask how to get started. the woman on the other end had been kind, refreshingly unfazed, and walked you through the steps. first came a referral to a fertility clinic, which took a couple of weeks to process. then the clinic called, emailed you a pile of paperwork, and scheduled your first proper consultation. 

and somehow, that’s today.

you’re standing in the bedroom tugging at your jumper for what feels like the fifth time, even though you know you’re not going to magically look “more ready” than you already do. leah’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with her hands loosely knotted in her lap.

“you okay?” she asks gently.

you nod, then shake your head. “i don’t know. i feel like the minute we walk in there they’re gonna tell us something awful.”

leah stands and crosses the room to you, wrapping her arms loosely around your waist. she smells like laundry powder and that face moisturiser she swears doesn’t make a difference. “they’re not,” she says. “but if they do, we handle it. together. alright?”

you nod again, this time with a small exhale. “alright.”

the clinic is modern and warm in that polished, slightly impersonal way. the front desk woman takes your name when you check in. you’re both handed another clipboard of forms, which you fill out slowly while seated side by side in the waiting area, your knees touching, leah tapping her pen against the plastic over and over.

when they call your names, the room feels suddenly too quiet.

the doctor is kind. older than you expected, with wire-rimmed glasses and a tone that balances both directness and softness. she walks you through the basics: bloodwork, hormone tracking, egg count checks, donor options. the emotional and physical implications. the fact that it can take time. you both listen closely, nodding, asking questions when you need to, and scribbling little notes in the margins of the folder you brought. then she pauses to glance down at her notes. 

“have you both talked about who’s planning to carry?” you freeze slightly. it’s not a hard question, but it’s heavier than the others. you’d been avoiding the answer, not because you didn’t know it, but because you were scared to name it out loud. scared it would sound selfish. final. real. you open your mouth to say something vague, but leah beats you to it.

“she does,” she says, clear and quiet.

your eyes dart to hers. “leah,”

“i know,” she says quickly, before you can start listing all the reasons that it should still be a conversation. “we can talk more. but we’ve talked about it, haven’t we? you want to. and i want you to.”

your mouth presses into a thin line. “you’re allowed to want it too.”

she tilts her head. “i know. but i don’t need it. you’ve wanted this for as long as i’ve known you. it means something different to you. you blink once. then again. you hadn’t expected her to say it like that, so simply. no big declarations, no guilt-tripping. just.. the truth. you clear your throat, trying to swallow around the lump that’s managed to sneak its way up. 

“yeah. okay.” you say lowly, eyes on leah.

the doctor, sensing the moment, nods and carries on. an initial scan is booked for next week. blood tests and health assessments this week if you're up for it. she explains the next few steps, the realistic timelines, the costs. none of it is sugarcoated, but none of it feels impossible either.

you leave with your arms full of leaflets, printouts, test forms. you feel a bit like you’ve just been hit by a very polite, very educational truck. outside, you take a deep breath and look at leah, who slides her sunglasses on like nothing in the world just shifted.

“well,” you say.

she nods. “yeah. that was a lot.”

“you sure about what you said in there?” leah doesn’t look at you, just starts walking toward the car.

 “yep, i wouldn’t have said it unless i meant it.”

you smile, something soft settling in your chest. not dreamy or dramatic. just solid.

the morning of your blood tests arrives faster than you expected, 3 days have blurred past and then suddenly you’re dressed in something comfortable but easy to roll up your sleeve in. a loose long-sleeve top and jeans, and leah’s already downstairs making coffee when you come into the kitchen.

“ready?” she asks, handing you a travel mug, “decaf, doctors orders,” 

you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “yeah. let’s just get it done.”

the drive to the clinic is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. parking is easier this time, and you find yourself surprised at how normal the whole place feels now only after just one visit. the same white walls, the same soft hum of fluorescent lights. at reception, the nurse greets you warmly and asks if it’s your first visit for the tests. when you say yes, she hands you some paperwork to double-check your details and reminds you to keep hydrated but to avoid caffeine, leah reassuring here the coffee in the travel mug is decaf. 

you sit in the waiting room, leah close by. the minutes pass slower here than anywhere else, and your fingers twitch a bit, like they want to fidget but you’re trying to stay calm. when your name is called, you stand and follow a nurse down a bright hallway lined with photos of flowers and landscapes.

in the lab room, the phlebotomist is cheerful, making small talk about your plans for the weekend as she preps the needle. it helps, the way she talks, easy and friendly, like this is just another part of someone’s day, not a huge step towards something life-changing. once the needle’s in and the vials start filling, you steal a glance at leah, who’s sitting patiently nearby, offering a quiet smile that steadies you more than she knows.

afterward, the doctor pops in for a quick check-in. she asks if you have any questions about the next steps, about the hormone tracking, the scans, what to expect in the coming weeks. you ask about side effects, timing, how they’ll know when the best window for implantation is.

she explains it clearly, patiently. “the blood tests show your hormone levels, especially AMH, which helps indicate your ovarian reserve. the scans will track follicles during your cycle to find the optimal time for egg retrieval or implantation,” she pauses, flicking through a file in her hands. “it’s a bit of a puzzle,” she continues with a smile, “but it’s why we do all this monitoring,  to make the process as smooth and successful as possible.”

you nod, grateful for the straightforwardness. leah squeezes your hand under the table as the doctor finishes up, her presence calm and constant. you leave the clinic with a little more confidence, armed with appointment dates, instructions, and a clearer picture of what lies ahead.

the following week you have your first ultrasound. 

you sit on the edge of the exam bed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as the ultrasound technician enters with a friendly smile. “hi, i’m emma,” she says, “i’ll be doing your scan today. just so you know, it’ll be a transvaginal ultrasound. it’s the best way to get a clear picture of your ovaries and uterus. it can feel a bit uncomfortable, but it’s over quickly.”

leah squeezes your hand reassuringly. you nod, swallowing hard. “okay, thank you.”

emma pulls on gloves and applies cold gel, helping you lie back and get comfortable. as she begins, she talks you through what you’re seeing on the screen.

“so, here are your ovaries, you can see these small dark circles? those are follicles. we’re checking how many you have and their size. this helps us understand your ovarian reserve and how ready your ovaries are to respond to stimulation.”

you glance at the screen, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes. “is that normal?” you ask, pointing hesitantly.

emma smiles. “yes, those sizes are just right for this stage. everything looks healthy so far. your uterine lining is here — see how nice and thick it is? that’s important for implantation later.”

leah leans forward, curious. “how often do you monitor the follicles after this?”

“usually every few days once stimulation starts,” emma replies. “we’re tracking growth to time egg retrieval perfectly. if follicles aren’t developing as expected, we adjust meds.”

you take a breath, feeling a bit more at ease. “can you tell from this if there are any issues?”

emma shakes her head gently. “nothing obvious right now. sometimes things come up later, but this is a really good baseline.” the scan ends quickly, and emma wipes away the gel. the doctor steps in to review the images with you both.

“everything looks promising,” she says. “your ovaries are functioning normally, and your lining is ideal. we’ll start your hormone injections soon and keep close tabs on progress.”

leah leans over to brush a kiss across your temple, her voice low. “we’re doing this.”

you nod, a little overwhelmed but ready. “yeah. we are,” 

━━━━━━

the weeks that follow fly by in a dizzy blur. early mornings filled with carefully measured hormone injections, needle after needle, day after day, in the fridge, on the counter, in the bathroom. you learn the rhythms quickly, setting alarms, double-checking dosages, swallowing your nerves with every prick. leah’s always there, sometimes steadying your hand, sometimes just sitting close when you need to cry or rage at the unfairness of it all.

calls with doctors become a regular thing, updates on bloodwork, changes in medication, reminders about appointments. everything feels clinical but urgent, like you’re racing a clock that doesn’t stop ticking. your cycle tracking app lights up with notes and alarms, hormones rising and falling, highs and lows rippling through your body. mood swings hit without warning. one moment you’re hopeful and laughing; the next, you’re overwhelmed, teary, raw.

then comes the day of the egg retrieval. you’re groggy from sedation, but the ache afterward is sharp and real. leah’s voice is soft in your ear, reassuring but tired too.

in between all this, you sit with the donor profiles, faces, stories, medical histories, and the weight of choice presses down harder than you expected. there are moments you feel strong, ready to take it all on. but others when the hormones flood your system and you’re a mess, overstimulated, weepy over nothing, craving comfort and space all at once. time compresses and stretches. appointments, injections, scans, decisions. it’s relentless and through it all, leah stays your anchor. steady, patient, loving.

a few days after the retrieval, you’re back at the clinic, the tension almost physical as you wait for the call from the embryologist. leah’s beside you, fingers laced through yours, but you can barely breathe. you're both sat opposite your doctor, who is trying to make small talk from the other side of the desk as you await the call.  when the phone finally rings, the doctor’s voice is warm but businesslike.

“we retrieved twelve eggs. ten fertilised successfully. we’ll keep monitoring their growth over the next few days and let you know when they’re ready for transfer.”

you blink, the numbers swirling in your head, hope mixed with cautious optimism. 

the days after that are a blur of updates over the phone, embryos growing, splitting, some making it further than others. then, implantation.

you arrive at the clinic early, nerves buzzing under your skin. the procedure is quick, almost anticlimactic, but your heart pounds like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever done.

the doctor reminds you to take it easy, avoid strenuous activity, and keep stress low. the waiting begins. the two-week wait, the hardest part.

leah wraps you in quiet comfort, reminding you that no matter what, everything will be okay.  every twinge, every ache, every mood swing is magnified in your mind as you wait for that moment, that sign.

the two-week wait turns into its own kind of world.  one that exists just between the two of you. you don’t tell anyone. no texts to your best friend, no calls to leah’s mum, no vague hints to the people who might guess. it’s your secret. your maybe. and in some strange way, that makes it feel special. sacred.

there’s this hum of something soft and hopeful between you,  in the way leah kisses your shoulder before bed, the way she rubs your back absentmindedly while you brush your teeth, the way she leaves sticky notes on the fridge that say things like “growing team w.”

“what if it worked?” she whispers one night as you lie tangled in sheets and silence.

you smile into her collarbone. “then we get to tell everyone. but just us for now, yeah?”

“just us,” she echoes, pressing a kiss to your temple.

each day is a weird mix of hyper-awareness and pretending not to care. every twinge, every ache, every mood swing feels like a sign. but you don’t test early. you wait. just like they said. on the morning of day fourteen, your hands shake as you open the test. you sit on the edge of the tub, leah crouched in front of you in her hoodie, hair still messy from sleep, her thumb brushing lightly over your knee. you wait in silence.

and then… nothing. one line. not pregnant.

you don’t cry right away. just kind of sit there, blinking at it, heart heavy but quiet. like you’d already prepared for this exact outcome even if you didn’t want to believe it.

“okay,” you say, voice small. “okay.”

leah takes the test from your hand gently and sets it aside. pulls you into her lap like it’s instinct. holds you there until your breath hiccups and the first tear finally slips out.“we’re okay,” she whispers. “we’re gonna try again. we’re not done.” and even though it hurts, even though disappointment hangs thick in the air, you believe her.

the days after are kind of strange. you’re not exactly sad in the way you thought you’d be. not devastated or inconsolable. just.. flat. like someone pressed pause on everything inside you. your body feels like it’s been through something and your brain hasn’t quite caught up. the bloating, the soreness, the tiny bruises on your stomach from the injections,  still fading. evidence of all the effort, even though nothing came from it.

leah’s gentle with you in a way she doesn’t point out. no big speeches, no forced positivity. just warm tea without asking, her hand always finding yours under blankets, forehead kisses before bed like punctuation. you talk about it one night, two days later. half-wrapped in a duvet on the couch, takeaway between you, a rerun of some game on mute in the background.

“i thought i’d be more wrecked,” you admit, chewing on a bite of cold chip. “but i think i’m just... tired.”

leah nods. “you’re allowed to be. this whole thing’s a lot.”

you look over at her. “you still wanna keep going?”

she doesn’t hesitate. “course i do.” you let yourself believe that answer, lean into it a little. 

another few days pass before you call the clinic. it’s a short conversation,  they explain what comes next, when your period arrives, they’ll schedule your next baseline scan. adjustments to the medication, maybe. they’re hopeful. they remind you this is normal.

you hang up and say, quietly, “we’re on the list again.”

leah grins, soft but sure. “round two.”

━━━━━━

blood tests. scans. more injections. second round. retrieval day comes and goes again,  fewer eggs this time. you try not to let that sink in too deep.

implantation. wait. hope. test. negative.

you blink back tears, throw the test in the bin like you’re tossing away a stupid receipt. leah pulls you into her arms, doesn’t say much. there’s not really anything to say.

do it all again.

round three starts and you try to feel different this time, more grounded, more prepared. but your body aches before the shots even start. the bloating comes quicker, your moods crash harder. your skin feels tight over your bones. everything gets under your skin.

more bloods. more scans. another retrieval. fewer fertilised this time.

implantation.

leah kisses you tenderly before she leaves for international duty.

“i’ll be back before you test,” she says, brushing a hand over your stomach. “text me if you need me.”

you nod. but your throat’s too tight to answer. the wait feels longer this time. lonelier.

she sends photos from camp, teammates, training, hotel breakfasts. she means well. you heart them all, but don’t say much back.

you’re tired of waiting, of hoping. of pretending it still feels exciting.

you take the test alone. again.

negative. again.

you sit on the cold bathroom floor for longer than you need to. knees pulled to your chest. eyes fixed on the wall.

you still haven’t told anyone you’ve even started trying. not your friends. not your family. it was supposed to be your little secret, something sacred. now it just feels heavy.

you call leah, and she answers breathless, somewhere between the pitch and the gym.

you don’t say anything at first. then, just:

“it didn’t work.”

silence. then her soft, quiet, “shit. baby…”

your voice cracks. “i don’t know how many more times i can do this.”

and for the first time, she doesn’t rush in with solutions or promises. she just breathes with you. holds space through a phone line. and somehow, that’s enough. for now.

━━━━━━

you take things slower this time.

there’s no rush, no frantic energy like before. just small steps. quiet preparation. you go to your baseline scan and let the cold gel sit a little longer on your skin. you listen more closely when the nurse explains your hormone schedule. you ask questions this time,  real ones,  about timing, about statistics, about what your body’s been through and what it can still do.

leah’s there for every appointment, even the ones that don’t seem important. she’s gentler with you now. not careful like you’ll break, but present. solid. hers is the hand you hold when you get your blood drawn, the shoulder you lean on during the hour-long wait for the consultant, the voice in your ear telling you you’re brave even when you don’t feel it. you do the injections slower, too. no rushing in the bathroom before work. just quiet evenings with leah holding the ice pack to your thigh, reading the instructions out loud even though you both know them by heart. you still get bloated. still cry at adverts for nappies. still stare too long at the prams in shop windows. but it’s quieter now,  like grief and hope have learned how to sit beside each other.

one morning, while digging through a drawer for a clean hoodie, you find it. the tiny baby-grow. arsenal red. still folded, tags on. a stupid impulse buy after the first implantation, when you were still full of belief. you sit down on the edge of the bed and hold it to your chest. it smells like nothing. clean cotton. empty.

you cry, properly cry, for the first time in a while. not just for the thing you want, but for how badly you still want it. then you fold it back up, careful and slow. tuck it in the back of the drawer. hidden. safe.

just in case. you don’t tell leah. you keep going.

scans. bloods. retrieval day again.

you count eggs in your head while lying on the crinkly paper sheet.

you rest your hand over your belly and whisper something only you hear. “this time. maybe this time.” 

the two-week wait feels quieter this time. not softer, just quieter. like your body knows how to carry it now, you don’t talk about it much with leah. it’s there, unspoken, in everything,  the way she pulls you into her chest at night, the way she runs her hand over your back while you’re brushing your teeth, the way she makes sure you never take your vitamins alone. you both pretend to be casual about it. casual about everything. but sometimes you catch her staring at your stomach when she thinks you’re not looking, and sometimes she finds you sat in the hallway, just.. waiting. for what, you don’t even know.

you told yourself you’d wait until the full two weeks. no early testing. you swore you’d be patient this time.

but leah’s out running errands, twenty minutes she said, and suddenly you’re pacing the bathroom floor with a test in your hand and your heart in your throat.

you pee. wait.

you don’t even sit down. just stand in the doorway, arms crossed tight, watching it.

after three minutes, you glance. and you freeze. there. so faint you think maybe you’re imagining it. you tilt the test toward the light. it’s still there. a second line.

barely visible, like it’s made of shadow and hope and everything you’ve wanted for months. your hand flies to your mouth. you don’t cry, not yet, just stand there staring, like it might vanish if you breathe too loud. your chest feels too small. your legs go a little shaky. you grab your phone, snap a picture of the test in case it disappears by the time leah gets back.

and then you just, sit. on the edge of the tub. holding the test in both hands like it’s made of glass. it’s not certain. it’s not strong. it’s not official. but it’s something, and you tell yourself you won’t test again. but the next morning, before leah wakes, you’re back in the bathroom. sitting on the closed toilet lid, cold floor against your feet, heart thudding too loud. another test, you watch it like it’s a magic trick and there it is; again. the second line. a whisper stronger than yesterday.

you bite your lip so hard it stings. you don’t tell leah. not yet.

you slip back into bed like nothing happened. press your face into her back. let her warmth steady your breathing.

day 9. test number three. darker.

day 10. you save the wrapper this time, place the test gently on a tissue like it’s delicate, precious. you line it up next to the others you’ve hidden behind the cleaning products under the sink.

day 11, 12, 13. the lines are real now. clear. undeniable.

your hands still shake every morning. your heart still stutters every time it appears. but you don’t cry. you don’t jump to conclusions. you just keep going. like you're scared speaking it aloud will undo the spell. sometimes you stare at the row of tests like they’re part of some secret language only you can read. proof you’ve been carrying alone, too scared to share it, too afraid it might vanish. you rehearse the words in your head. think about how you’ll tell her. how you’ll say, “i think it worked.” or, “we’re really doing this.” but they never make it out of your mouth, and you wait. day fourteen is tomorrow. you decide that’s when you’ll show her everything, because the line is dark now. dark and steady and real.

━━━━━━

day fourteen begins before the sun rises. you wake to the soft hush of the house, the sky outside still painted in dark blues and muted greys. leah is asleep beside you, her breathing slow and even, one hand tucked under her cheek. you lie there for a moment, just watching her. the curve of her back, the little line between her brows even in sleep. you almost stay. almost let yourself drift back down. but the weight in your chest is too loud now, too full. you need to know. even though, deep down, you already do.

you slip out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb her, and pad barefoot down the hallway. the test is already waiting on the bathroom counter. the last of the pack, tucked behind the mirror where she wouldn’t see. your fingers tremble as you unwrap it, heart pounding harder with every second. the process is so familiar by now it’s almost mechanical: test, wait, watch. but this time feels different.

you crouch on the cold tile floor, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, eyes fixed on the little window as the control line appears almost instantly.

and then the second one. clear. steady. bold. your breath catches in your throat. you close your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself. but the tears come anyway. not the panicked kind you’ve cried through before. this time, it’s different. softer. quieter. like the kind of crying your body does when it finally allows itself to hope.

you wipe your cheeks with your sleeve and reach into the drawer beneath the sink. hidden under a stack of clean towels is the baby-grow. the tiny, red arsenal onesie you bought after the very first round. the one you folded away when things started falling apart. the one you couldn’t bring yourself to throw out. you smooth it gently across the counter and line the pregnancy tests beside it. all eight of them, fanned out like pages in a story only you’ve been reading.

you stand back and stare at the little display. it looks almost sacred. private and precious, full of waiting and want and weeks of pain. you take a shaky breath, touch the sleeve of the baby-grow once more, snap a secret picture with your phone and then slip out of the bathroom.

downstairs, the kitchen is still dark, the early light just beginning to stretch through the windows. you make coffee slowly, the routine grounding you. kettle on, mugs out, sugar stirred absentmindedly. your hands are still trembling when you wrap them around the warm ceramic. you sit at the table and wait. upstairs, there’s the sound of the bed creaking. the floorboards creak a little too, then silence again. then, the soft click of the bathroom door.

you don’t move. you just close your eyes and take a deep breath, counting your heartbeats like they might keep you still. she doesn’t call your name. doesn’t ask. instead, you hear the slow steps down the stairs, and then she’s there- standing in the kitchen doorway.

she looks like she’s been crying. the baby-grow is clutched in her hand, the other holding the most recent test like she needs it to ground herself.

her voice is hoarse when she finally speaks. “are you serious?”

you nod, your own throat tight, eyes blurring again. “i didn’t want to tell you until i was sure.”

she crosses the room in seconds and drops to her knees in front of you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pressing her face into the soft of your stomach. you cradle her there, fingers tangled in her hair, both of you holding onto this fragile, enormous moment.

“we’re really doing this,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“yeah,” you say, smiling through your tears, “we are.”

and for the first time in months, it doesn’t feel like a maybe. it feels real.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Smarter

Smarter insight 1 insight 2

Leah Williamson x reader

Warnings: Cheating, talks of IVF, definitely could have been better so might edit it later but here we go

You’re crying again, you didn’t think you could cry anymore but the tears running down your puffy red cheeks say otherwise.

It’s heartbreaking the sight of you curled up on your bed, wrapped around Leah who hasn’t cried since coming home from the check up.

It’s another fail in your IVF journey, you’ve failed again, you have failed Leah again but still she’s here comforting you.

She lays there with you wrapped around her until she thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep and then she tries to slip out, away from you, from your constant tears that she can’t take anymore m, she needs to get out and the best thing she can think to do is to go for a run.

Only you stir “Le, where-where are you going.” Leah freezes the floorboards creeking slightly “I-i just I need to go clear my head it’s-I just need to go for a run.” You want to ask her to come back to bed to stay with you, to tell her you will get through this together, that it’s better if you do but that’s selfish and you have been so, so selfish recently. “Ok.” You say quietly and with that small nod of approval from you Leah’s gone.

Leah doesn’t know how long she’s been running for when she first spots HER and for the first time all day her mind is void of you. SHES gorgeous, absolutely stunning and she’s running right towards her.

Leah doesn’t know what comes over her as she does a u turn to chase after the gorgeous girl that’s just smiled her but she finds herself running beside her, her eyes flicking between her and the path before SHE stops.

“Hi.” Leah stops her hands on her hips sucking in air “I’m sorry I just-I saw you and I thought wow and, and.” SHE laughs and before Leah knows it’s they are sat in the park cafe chatting and laughing, Leah doesn’t know what time it is and frankly she doesn’t care this is the first time in weeks she’s laughed and not had to deal with a crying wife.

Everything is so nice and easy until SHE questions why Leah was running g so fast. “I-I’m going through something, my-my wife and I are going through something.” SHE reaches over grabbing Leah’s hand stroking it softly “it’s ok I’m sure it will workout.” Leah shakes her head “I-I don’t know if it will, my wife she-she’s in the middle of IVF and it’s not working-it never seems to work.” SHE softens “That’s not your fault, you can’t do anything about it.” Leah shakes her head “But am I not an asshole for just leaving her-I mean she’s at home crying and I-I’m here.”

SHE shakes her head “You need comfort too, she’s actually being selfish not comforting you as well, I mean it’s hard for you too.”

The conversation continues and SHE continues to “comfort” Leah telling her it’s going to be ok, their hands don’t part even after the Cafe owner throws them out.

“My house is just across the street.” It’s all Leah needs to hear before she’s sitting at the kitchen another tea in hand as SHE flits around content on cooking.

Leah doesn’t know how or when it happened maybe after SHE brought a spoon to her lips begging her to try the sauce but suddenly they are kissing, and then suddenly Leah is pushing HER through the bedroom door.

Leah knows this is wrong as she strips, as she twists off her wedding band and throws it towards her cloths but SHE’S gorgeous, the voice the tiny small voice screams in the back of her mind as they push forward, it scream about you, how you are still there, still at home crying, but SHE’S not SHE’S not crying not seeking comfort and draining Leah’s every emotion, no SHE’S soft and her lips are plump and her breast are perfect and SHE’S not crying and begging to be held, SHE’S not begging to be told it’s going to be ok as another round of IVF fails.

SHE’S gorgeous and she’s all Leah can think about on the drive home, right until the moment she walks through the door and your body crashes into hers, as you wrap yourself around her whispering into her chest how much you missed her.

It should never of happened but it did, it should be a one time mistake but it wasn’t, she should never have left you but she did and now she’s lost you.

[centrally-unplanned]

So something you often hear as a criticism - or praise depending on the context - of the Republican factions is their loyalty, of how much they "shut up and march" even when sidelined in order to win. I won't get into the reality of that (they are stronger relative to Dems, but that is more about Dems just faceplanting than them being super amazing at this), instead I want to highlight the pro-life faction for a second.

A probably-effective move of the Trump campaign was to pretty much shove the pro-lifers in the closet. Trump pledged to never support an abortion ban, he pledged to subsidize IVF for all Americans, he said "this is a state's rights issue, they got that, we are done now". And the pro-life faction pretty much didn't budge an inch in support, they took it all on the chin, that much is true. The question is, how smart is this to do?

I think a lot of the criticism is kind of misguided. It is essentially saying "why aren't you stupid?" It is really common for a faction's "motte" demands to be politically popular and perhaps sustainable, but their "bailey" demands to be outside the overton window. If they push for them it just won't work. A smart faction knows when it is time to double down on defense instead of going on offense. Abortion seems clearly in that camp in the US - people are gonna get used to some states not having abortions while their state does. In a certain sense the pro-life faction was really smart.

But not that smart! Because, well, let's see what their win got them:

Oh. Turns out people really, really like abortions, and if you make them illegal in "some states" they will go elsewhere or smuggle in pills. Maybe should have thought of that, before, well before being pro-life? But anyway, pro-lifers generally believe in their stance - it isn't an excuse to Hate Women or w/e, they really, truly think that millions of babies are being murdered. And all they accomplished was increasing the murder rate slightly. They failed! Completely, totally. They haven't won an inch.

Now obviously that is "from a certain point of view", and ofc you can see this as a Step 1. But I think a lot of pro-life people won't really see it that way - people just really suck at the math of policy efficacy. By no means is this unique to their faction, everyone confuses the symbolic and the real. Many will say "well it isn't happening next to me" and consider that a win. Others won't, of course - and tension will eventually emerge over this, now that Trump is in power we are gonna see! But still, it is interesting how often people in politics just think they are winning, and how much that shapes coalitional dynamics.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep6 Musings: Loumand (Spoilers)

Armand stressed me TF out this episode; I can't believe they had me yelling at my favorite TVC book character this much on this dang show. But I still stand by what I said about him having good intentions--

--but by god does this man make the worst decisions for the best reasons.

FACTS, I can't stand modern art. The first vamp capitalist, faaaacts.

The first vamp pilot--Louis WANTS to fly now!? Or maybe it's just the Cloud Gift that freaks him out; a vampire taking him up without his control/consent?

I cannot BELIEVE they're banging in Armand's office right in front of that flimsy glass door--that's why the coven hated y'all. 🤦 Rubbing in their faces that Lou can do whatever--and whoever--he wants.

OF COURSE that mofo was gonna say No--DUH! Lou, Armand don't want Lestat's spawn, he wants Lestat's SEED, there's a DIFFERENCE. 😅

He. Didn't. NO. The attitude in Lou's neck rolls had me QUAKING. AMC is leaning IN to Armand withholding more than Lestat, jfc. 😬

It was NOT ok, Armand. That was your cue to be part of the family, and join Lou as he went to the IVF clinic to get his eggs fertilized with YOUR seed, MORON. 🤦 Y'all could've been the Le Russe/Romanus family! Now they'll always be Lioncourts! 😩 Alexa, play Rolling in the Deep, cuz they could've had it all! 😔🎵 🎶

☝️ SAY IT LOUDER! ☝️

Roleplay don't mean ISH outside the bedroom--just cuz Armand's a subby bottom don't mean he didn't hold ALL the power the whole time; eff what Lou said, asked or "ordered." I said back in S1: Les & Armand HUMOR Lou, and let him pretend to be in charge (X X). It's called POWER IMBALANCE.

It looks like childbirth gone wrong.

Lou going from battered wife depression in S1 to post-partum-depression in S2. 😔 So Loius tried to kill himself again? By bleeding out? Throwing up all the blood he drank from Madeleine. Dang.

What "you did to yourself" is a little inaccurate, considering it was YOUR insensitive words that triggered him and made him want to yeet himself into the sun! This is what I always mean by Armand taking advantage of Louis' agency, cuz Louis was CLEARLY not in his right mind at the time to be asking for anything THAT serious, which he NEVER would've done elsewise.

So, 3 days after Louis' failed suicide attempt, he asked for his mind to be wiped--cuz he was still TRAUMATIZED, Armand! 🤦

Lou got high as a kite (if he was ever sober in SanFran.....)

Nearly killed the first human who managed to get anywhere towards helping him process his PTSD--if not just VENT a bit; as he hadn't spoken Lestat's name in 20+ years by that point.

Vented all his resentment to Armand for being hella boring

Was triggered by Armand telling Louis Claudia never loved him, wtf

Tried to kill himself by burning himself alive in the first sunrise he'd seen since Paul's suicide

Burnt to a crisp, he has to watch Armand torture TF out of Daniel, begging for his life & powerless to do anything

Then lay there all crispetty cracketty crunchetty and hear Armand have a effing telephone call with LESTAT

He even told OIdmaniel he'd been in so much pain he blanked out

Armand said drugs did a number on Dan's mind--Louis DIED an alcoholic; he was turned while he was drunk, and I bet mental illness runs in his family, too. So what damage was done to LOUIS' mind when he was in SanFran getting stoned every night b4 you scrambled his brain, Armand?!

Daniel's mind is sharp, yes, but his body sure ain't. Armand caused Daniel's Parkinsons--if it's even really Parkinsons, and not just the consequences of 6 days of bodily & mental torture, as his arm was crushed, head bashed, nose bled, and muscles were contorted. "To protect me, from YOU, my Molloy"--we been knew. "Why did I owe YOU my shame...my one act of cowardice?" Oh, you mean selling Claudia & Louis down the effing river?!

I'd bet money that Armand was so shook seeing Louis' reaction to what he said about Claudia hating Louis, and was so terrified of being on permanent suicide watch, that he was RELIEVED to have the chance to wipe Louis' memory, and soften the blow of his own culpability in WHY Claudia died hating Louis. Cuz she was HAPPY at that cafe with y'all! What happened AFTERWARDS, Armand!?

Why would vamps cheer and drink with alcohol; y'all shoulda known something was up; with this JUDAS at the effing table.

Why tf is Armand sleeping in Claudia's coffin? I guess Loumand doesn't share Louis' the way Loustat did. But better question: Why TF are they still in that flat?! I'd've left Paris for good; that was stupid of them to stay in coven territory. But I guess we know why Armand didn't insist they leave. 😒

Louis and Madz have tension. :(

This poor boy just CANNOT help himself, LOL.

LOLOLOLOLOL! Madz is NOSEY, spill all the tea, girl, yaaas! XD (The bass in Lou's voice when he says BIIIIIG HEAD nearly put me in a stretcher--omfg it was IMPROVISED!?)

👀 Yeah, he knows, alright. Knows you'll forgive him, Lou.

Cuz he felt he had nothing left if he didn't have you.

Cuz Santiago was right:

Speak of the devil, carrying the effing burlap sacks.

I could never sit there that calm and talk about all that without lunging over and pulling every follicle out of Armand's head.

Omg it's a matinee in DAYLIGHT, it's happening right then & there. 😭☀️

💀

[hes-striker]

Stolas quietly opens the door to the apartment he and Blitzø share, stepping inside with an air of defeat. It’s late, and the dim lighting makes the place feel colder than it should. Blitzø is seated on the couch, arms crossed, his tail flicking anxiously as he waits. He immediately looks up when Stolas enters, his expression a mix of concern and irritation.

Blitzø: Finally. Took you long enough. What the hell happened, Stolas? You’ve been gone all day.

Stolas closes the door gently, not meeting Blitzø’s gaze. His hands tremble slightly as he removes his coat and drapes it over a nearby chair. Blitzø notices the tension in Stolas’s movements and stands, his tone softening.

Blitzø: Hey… what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.

Stolas takes a deep breath and finally looks at Blitzø, his eyes filled with sadness. He steps closer but keeps a slight distance, his posture rigid.

Stolas: Blitzø… there’s something I need to tell you. Something… I never wanted to say.

Blitzø: *narrowing his eyes* Okay… you’re scaring me now. Just spit it out.

Stolas hesitates, his feathers ruffling slightly as he steels himself.

Stolas: I… I am returning to my family.

Blitzø blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

Blitzø: Return to your family? What are you— wait, what does that even mean?

Stolas: *voice trembling* It means… my marriage to you has been annulled. It’s as if it never happened. And… the adoption of Wesson and Winnie—

Blitzø: *cutting him off, his voice rising* No. No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to just—just erase us like that! Stolas, we’re your family! Those kids love you!

Stolas’s eyes glisten with tears, but he doesn’t look away this time.

Stolas: I know, Blitzø. I know but…I want this.

Blitzø: *stares at him, his face a mixture of anger, heartbreak, and desperation* you…want this?

Stolas: I…cheated on you last night…

Blitzø: So?! I forgive you! It’s not worth ending this!

Stolas: The man who I cheated on you with…I found out he’ll be my newly betrothed.

Blitzø looks away, his jaw tightening as he processes the words. Finally, he speaks, his voice quieter but no less pained.

Blitzø: And what about…the baby Striker is carrying?

Stolas: It’s not definitive that he is. IVF fails a lot. And…if he does end up pregnant. I’ll request he get an abortion.

Blitzø: What?!

Stolas: He never consented to that treatment and he was wronged! Why force him to carry someone else’s baby?! Especially when he is sick!

Blitzø: *freezes but understands* Okay…that…if he wants to terminate then we can…

Stolas: I do!

Blitzø: I mean Striker. We can’t force him to do anything like that.

Stolas: Then…perhaps we can prevent a pregnancy from forming. It’s called birth control for a reason right? *uses his magic and summons a few items, pill bottles in particular* This will prevent any…ya know…

Blitzø: *devastated* Okay Stolas…I’ll let him have the option.

Stolas: Thank you Blitzø. I will send for me things.

Blitzø: You’re not even going to say goodbye to Wes and Win?

Stolas: *looks depressed* I don’t think I have the strength to face them.

Blitzø: Coward…just leave.

Stolas: *leaves without another word*

Blitzø: *starts to cry and sinks to the ground*

Striker: *heard everything from the bathroom where he’d been the entire time. He feels his chest tighten and hurt, like his lungs are about to burst. He opens the door slowly and walks over to Blitzø* Blitz?

Blitzø: Go away Striker.

Striker: What?

Blitzø: I SAID GO AWAY! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! If you hadn’t come back into my life this never would have happened!

Striker: What?! You’re the one who chased me down!

Blitzø: My greatest mistake was meeting you…

Striker: *eyes widened and he takes a few steps back. He suddenly starts coughing and heaving, vomiting blood, petals, and cactus needles*

Blitzø: *horrified* Striker?

Striker: *collapses and still vomiting blood*

Blitzø: What…have I done?!

[baronessblixen]

I finished Frasier!! :DDDDDD It was completely and thoroughly delightful.

I think S10 was my favorite over S11; but there were so many moments in both to love. The Ring Cycle when Daphne and Niles get married (and their compounding lie and Martin's understanding at the end); Enemy at the Gate, Proxy Prexy, Kissing Cousin, Tales From the Crypt, Star Mitzvah are stellar back-to-back episodes (Star Mitzvah almost got me to laugh out loud multiple times, which is a feat.) Bristle While You Work and Rooms With a View and Don't Go Breaking My Heart were necessary, touching followups. We Two Kings and The Harassed were fun but Door Jam was hilarious-- more so because I recognized some of the moments from the gifs you reblogged. Lilith Needs a Favor!!!!! I loved that one. Daphne Does Dinner and Trophy Girlfriend were good and Fraternal Schwinns was a whole other ballgame. Kenny on the Couch was okay if I breezed past the Kenny parts (to think I used to really like his character...) because Niles's envy over Daphne's flexibility was funny. Roe to Perdition and Some Assembly Required were unhinged; and Farewell Nervosa and The Devil and Dr. Phil were episodes that became better the longer it ran. Fathers and Sons, Analyzed Kiss, and A New Position for Roz were heartwarming and tender (and fun.) No Sex Please, We're Skittish and A Man, a Plan and a Gal: Julia were necessary and well-written followups to the Julia arc. The Doctor Is Out and Babysitter were such romps. The Placeholder and I'm Listening were pretty good with great moments; but Maris Returns and Murder Most Maris were curveballs (even if I knew they were happening)-- glad Niles found the last piece of his spine! Guns 'N Neuroses was sweet, Sea Bee Jeebies was entertaining, Frasier Lite was a trip (and Niles and Daphne were exquisite, as usual), The Ann Who Came to Dinner's standout line was Roz's as she descended the elevator (and revealed how she became friends with Ann), Freudian Sleep was a wild ride, and Caught in the Act was the breaking point of Frasier's celibate morals (he got everything he deserved.) Boo! was glorious; and I liked how Ronee subverted Martin's expectations. Coots and Ladders was a scheme that went right, for once! Match Game... Frasier, why must you be attracted to red flags?? Miss Right Now was alright (Fast Food Niles and wobbling Frasier); And Frasier Makes Three was gold; and Detour was okay (and wild.) Crock Tales was a stand-out: loved it to death. And Goodnight, Seattle was a perfect two-parter ending.

Thoughts:

Marta and Bebe came back! Bebe has my heart, and did not disappoint.

Loved the Lilith episodes, particularly the Bar Mitzvah and IVF ones. Her and Frasier's frank talks were good for the soul.

Ronee was a fun addition, though I think the writers didn't flesh her out as much because they were juggling many other elements at once. I do wonder if the show had another season if Martin and she would have broken up; but I really like her, overall.

Niles and Daphne have come so far! Niles and Daphne are married! Niles has heart surgery! Daphne thinks about their future family! She gets pregnant and crushes him in her sleep! He has dreams about failing the family! Both fear their child will be like the other's family! Niles passes out in the vet clinic! The monkey owner helps deliver their son David! Niles is holding the monkey when his family shows up! Martin and Ronee are married there! They all find out it's Eddie's birthday!

Season 11 was less fleshed out than Season 10, I think; and it seemed to snag on one theme (Frasier's singlehood) rather than explore other elements as thoroughly as previous seasons. The jokes were also cut shorter (i.e. the family thinking Frasier is dying-- it resolved on a brusquer note than previous revelations (short on time, perhaps?), though it didn't dampen the fun. :D) Regardless, it and S10 were great-- I prefer them to other seasons that didn't quite hit the mark.

Roz and Alice-- the duo really grew on me. And Roz gets to take Frasier's position! So happy for her.

Frasier moving away... I think it makes sense for him. But I don't think he'll find the success there he seeks until he works on a few of his personal foibles. Glad Charlotte didn't work out; but that situation illustrated that he has a longer way to go. (Loved Charlotte's boyfriend, btw. Hope he gets the nature girl of his dreams.) It'll probably only be a few years until he moves back, because he's a lonely soul, now. Maybe that's part of the tragedy of his character: perpetually moving away from family and connection when he needs it most. Chasing the dream rather than settling in reality. (One thing, though: his plane lands in Chicago at the end-- does that mean he went after Charlotte? Or that it's just a layover to California? I think the latter.)

The show overall is wonderful. I treasure it-- thank you for the recommendation! :DDD It's the perfect comfort rewatch; and it struck the right balance between character growth/exploration and character stagnation. I'm sure I'll drop back in with more thoughts and laughs on future rewatches.

Oh yeah! I'm really so glad you enjoy the show too 😁it really is a comfort show. The later seasons are a bit more "flashy" and not necessarily as wonderful as the first ones. I feel like in the late 90s/early 00s, there was this kind of brash humor that was really popular. Happened on Friends too. That said, I love season 10. It might be one of my favorite seasons cause it has so many good episodes.

Judging from the reboot, I think Martin and Ronnie were together until he died (the actor John Mahoney died, so Martin died in the fictional world, too). And Frasier wasn't alone! He went after Charlotte! If I remember correctly from the reboot, they were together for like 20 years? I never really liked that whole story line - even though I LOVE Laura Linney. It just seemed rushed and unnecessary.

Like you said, season 11 wasn't as fleshed out. I think they were tired too and they knew it was ending. Still, it's such a wonderful, heartfelt show and I treasure it, too. It's something you can watch if you need half an hour of ridiculous fun 😁

Thank you for giving the show a chance and for reporting back!

[mistandshcdow]

‘Men Have Called Her Crazy’ by Anna Marie Tendler — a Review

CW: this book discusses suicide, SH, EDs, mental health institutions and other triggering topics in detail, and they are touched on in this review.

Going into this memoir, I was expecting an intimate look at Tendler’s mental health crisis, her complicated relationship with various men in her life, and some insight as to how she dealt with being betrayed by her famous husband. You’ll get one of those things from this, and it’s not the one you want.

By intimate, imagine you’re sitting in on Anna’s three hour psych examination where she is narrating every detail and breaking down what it means in real time. That happens in the book. She also describes every inpatient class she goes to, every random man in the hospital who dares to glance at her, and every relationship she’s ever had going back to high school. Oh yeah, except her husband of six years, who makes not a single appearance outside of nameless references to “my husband.” He is never named, nor is their relationship even touched on.

She touches on other relationships though, and although they’re undoubtedly shitty, none of them call her crazy. Her mental health condition is addressed by only one boyfriend, the singular one she notes as being caring and dedicated. It comes to a point where she has to literally imagine a man calling her crazy, a man she has met all of once over ZOOM THERAPY and immediately hates for little reason. In fact, the only people in Tendler’s life who do insinuate she might be crazy are WOMEN, a fact she seems unable to unpack or dwell on, and why should she when she can say “Fuck men” and sell her book as a gripping feminist narrative. That’s not what feminism is, Anna.

The one man who deserves the biggest “Fuck you” is not present. Tendler has the right to write about whatever she wants and that includes leaving out Mulaney, but if you’re going to push the book as a tell-all memoir that is almost entirely centered around men shortly after your very public divorce, leaving him out totally feels unnatural and disingenuous. If it’s legal issues that keep her from mentioning him, then maybe she shouldn’t write the damn memoir.

Tendler is frankly unbearable to be inside the head of. She’s privileged (although she repeatedly stresses her financial hardship), judgmental, pretentious and somehow painfully uninteresting all at once. The real problem with this book is that it is boring, and the reason she feels the need to go into excessive detail about everything from her tiny wrists to a step by step guide on how to inject IVF hormones is because there is not enough content to fill a whole book without discussing Mulaney, which she can’t/won’t do. In the final third, readers are spoiled with pages upon pages of her talking about her designer dog, which I’m sorry, is not particularly compelling in a book that’s marketed as an exposé.

If your conclusion near the end of the book is “men are the cause of all my problems” then I don’t think you can really call the book memoir considering we can tell no self reflection was done—ma’am, you are severely mentally ill. That isn’t your fault, but it’s not your male barista’s fault either; it just sucks. By the end of the book, Tendler has learned nothing, digested nothing, and reflects on nothing, which is evident from the way she writes about herself. She is clearly still not in a good place and that is totally fine, but it doesn’t make for an honest memoir. The book ends by her going through her psych report in again, painful detail, complete with her calling every comment she disagrees with misogynistic for failing to accurately describe her experience. I think Tendler thinks that anything she doesn’t like or 100% resonate with is misogyny, which is uh, an interesting take from a rich white woman.

Women are allowed to be mediocre. Women should be allowed to be annoying and pretentious and self indulgent. Tendler is allowed to be these things. Doesn’t make this book any better.

If you loved this book, you’re probably a cis white woman. I can’t prove this, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.

2 stars.

[artfertilityclinicsposts]

Navigating IVF: Exploring the Pain Factor and Success Rates

Are you considering the journey through In Vitro Fertilization (IVF)? If so, you're not alone. The path to parenthood can sometimes take unexpected turns, and IVF has become a beacon of hope for many couples facing fertility challenges. In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into the world of IVF, addressing common concerns such as whether IVF is painful, the success rates associated with it, and why some IVF attempts fail. Join us on this informative journey as we navigate the maze of IVF, shedding light on its complexities, benefits, and potential roadblocks.

Understanding IVF: A Brief Overview

Before we delve into the pain factor and success rates of IVF, let's first grasp the fundamentals of this reproductive technology. IVF, or In Vitro Fertilization, is a medical procedure designed to help individuals and couples overcome infertility. It involves the fertilization of an egg with sperm outside the body, followed by the transfer of the resulting embryo into the uterus.

Is IVF Painful? Unveiling the Truth

One of the most common concerns people have about IVF is whether it's painful. The truth is, the experience can vary from person to person, but it's essential to manage expectations.

Understanding the Discomfort

IVF does involve certain discomforts. For instance, the fertility medications administered to stimulate egg production can lead to bloating and mild abdominal discomfort. However, these sensations are generally manageable and temporary.

The Procedure Itself

During the egg retrieval and embryo transfer procedures, you'll receive anesthesia to minimize discomfort. Most patients report feeling little to no pain during these critical stages.

Benefits of IVF Treatment

While the process may seem daunting, IVF offers numerous benefits that make it a viable option for many individuals and couples.

Higher Chances of Conception

IVF significantly increases the chances of conception, especially for those with underlying fertility issues. It can be a lifeline for those who have struggled with infertility for an extended period.

Control and Flexibility

IVF allows you to have better control over the timing of conception. This can be especially helpful if you have busy schedules or medical reasons that require precise timing.

Understanding IVF Success Rates

Now, let's shift our focus to the critical aspect of IVF success rates. These rates are influenced by various factors and can vary from one IVF clinic to another.

Age Matters

A crucial factor affecting IVF success is age. Younger individuals typically have higher success rates, as the quality and quantity of eggs tend to decline with age.

Clinic Expertise

Choosing the right IVF clinic is vital. Reputable clinics, like ART Fertility Clinic, often have higher success rates due to their experienced staff and state-of-the-art facilities.

Previous Failed Attempts

The number of previous IVF attempts can impact success rates. After failed attempts, the chances of success may decrease, but they are not eliminated.

Why Does IVF Fail?

Facing IVF failure can be disheartening, but it's essential to understand why it happens. Several factors can contribute to unsuccessful IVF cycles.

Embryo Quality

Sometimes, the quality of embryos may not be optimal, making it difficult for them to implant successfully in the uterus.

Uterine Issues

Uterine problems, such as fibroids or polyps, can hinder implantation, leading to IVF failure.

Hormonal Imbalances

Imbalances in hormones crucial for implantation can affect the success of IVF.

Navigating the Emotional Rollercoaster

Embarking on the IVF journey can be an emotional rollercoaster. It's essential to acknowledge the emotional challenges and seek support when needed.

Seeking Support

Don't hesitate to lean on your partner, friends, or a support group. Sharing your feelings and experiences can be incredibly therapeutic.

Staying Positive

Maintaining a positive outlook can make a significant difference. Remember, each IVF cycle is a step forward, regardless of the outcome.

The Role of ART Fertility Clinic

If you're considering IVF, choosing the right clinic is paramount. ART Fertility Clinic, with its reputation for excellence and a dedicated team of specialists, is a beacon of hope for many seeking fertility solutions.

Experience and Expertise

The clinic's experienced professionals are well-versed in the latest advancements in fertility treatments, ensuring the best possible care for patients.

State-of-the-Art Facilities

ART Fertility Clinic boasts state-of-the-art facilities, equipped with cutting-edge technology to maximize your chances of success.

Final Thoughts

Embarking on the IVF journey can be both perplexing and emotionally taxing, but it's also a journey filled with hope and potential. While the question of whether IVF is painful may concern you, rest assured that discomfort is manageable, and the benefits can be life-changing. Success rates may vary, but with the right clinic and support system, your dreams of parenthood can become a reality. Remember, at ART Fertility Clinic, we're here to guide you every step of the way, offering hope and support on your path to parenthood.

Navigating IVF is a complex yet rewarding journey, and your dedication and perseverance are the keys to unlocking its potential.

[filmjoyreviews]

SCRAP: Heartfelt, Compelling Character Study with Strong Performances

Scrap–written and directed by and starring Vivian Kerr–follows Beth (Vivian Kerr) , a single mother who just got laid off from her job and struggles to put her life back together. Beth has been living in her car while her brother Ben (Anthony Rapp) and his wife Stacy (Lana Parrilla) have been looking after her daughter Birdy (Julianna Layne). 

Scrap is an extremely honest portrait of how difficult and painful it can be to just make it through life. Vivian Kerr gives a wonderful performance as Beth who tries to hide her situation from her brother, not wanting to be judged for her life falling apart. 

What makes Scrap work so well is the sibling dynamic between Beth and Ben, especially in the toughest moments. Watching Vivian Kerr and Anthony Rapp in their scenes together makes you want their relationship to heal, while also deeply understanding why there are fractures in their relationship. 

Every character is going through their own issues, and Scrap does a great job of allowing the audience to feel the nuances of everyone’s problems, instead of framing the story around only its protagonist. Seeing Beth make terrible decisions and how that impacts Ben and Stacy makes Scrap a realistic film with emotion that feels earned. I especially enjoyed how Lana Parrilla’s performance shows us how Beth’s decisions make Stacy feel worse about her own insecurities. 

There’s an honest complexity to the decisions Beth makes, especially in how she handles money after she’s let go from her job. Even though it seems like a small thing, watching her order a bunch of stuff she doesn’t need online gives a welcome realism to the film. In real life, we don’t have it all figured out and sometimes our response to losing everything might not seem logical, and Scrap understands and explores this. 

Scrap is an intimate film, which allows the audience to feel like we are let inside the lives of these characters. I especially enjoyed the moments exploring the sibling relationship between Ben and Beth. Vivian Kerr and Anthony Rapp have a natural chemistry that makes Scrap an extremely enjoyable experience. The moments where we learn more about their childhood are especially nice. Anthony Rapp does a great job in the moments where we see how much Ben is struggling with his desire to help his sister and his hope that he isn’t enabling her to make bad decisions. 

Vivian Kerr’s script, direction, and performance give Scrap a personal and compelling feel that makes me excited to see more of her work in the future. 

Scrap tells a simple story about trying to overcome struggles while wanting to maintain the life you had before. This is shown beautifully with the way Beth struggles to change her habits after losing her job and living in her car. 

Part of the story focuses on how little Beth cares about her daughter, but this works well as a contrast for Stacy. We see Stacy going through IVF and feeling like she can’t get closer to having a child, while constantly seeing Beth failing to show up for Birdy. These moments allow the audience to feel emotionally connected to Stacy. Lana Parrilla shows great emotional strength and her character experiences some of the best development throughout the film. 

The ending of Scrap feels like everything comes together just a little bit too perfectly, but the experiences it takes to get there bring a welcome realism to the film. We see Beth’s worst decisions through the eyes of Ben and Stacy, allowing us to both feel sympathy for her while also seeing how poorly she handled aspects of her situation. We can see her struggles through her eyes, as well as through those of her brother and sister-in-law, which creates a more complex portrait of her life. 

Scrap is a compelling, realistic film with strong performances from Vivian Kerr, Anthony Rapp, and Lana Parrilla. The relationships explored in the film come across as lived-in and realistic, especially the complex sibling dynamic between Ben and Beth. There is a poignancy to the way the film portrays Ben and Beth’s relationship shifting over time. Sibling relationships are not always easy to convey, but Scrap does a great job highlighting this unique dynamic. 

Vivian Kerr’s debut as a director/writer is an intimate, heartfelt character study that highlights the complexity of the human experience and tells a realistic story of trying to survive when the world feels stacked against us.

Review by Amanda Mazzillo

[thingstrumperssay]

So in Alabama they're unwilling to allow people to get pregnant through in vitro fertilization. Y'know, that thing people usually do when they're struggling to get pregnant otherwise?

Why? I thought these people wanted people to get pregnant. Why prevent that?

Also,

Does the owner of the building where these embryos are stored get to put every single embryo down in their taxes?

Do the people who wanted to parent these embryos have to pay child support since they are legally the parents of these embryos who are now legally children?

Can the parents legally claim that the people holding their embryos are kidnappers?

Can the embryos vote and join the military if they survive being frozen for 18 years?

Do the embryos get to drink alcohol if they survive being frozen for 21 years?

Is it considered child abuse when the parents don't feed their embryos?

Can an immigrant marry an eighteen year old embryo to become a US citizen?

I have many more questions but most of them are "can they legally do x when they're old enough" and "would it be considered as child abuse if parent fails to do y because embryos can't physically do that?"

[weezly14]

so i used to use this more as a blog where i talked about my life and my feelings and there's been both a lot and nothing happening in my life lately but i sure do have feelings! so i'm gonna write it down and send vibes into the universe because why not. what else do i have to do today?

i've been a little MIA in terms of working on my fics. i've barely written. first it was a rough fucking winter; then summer kicked my ass just as bad. i hate summer.

"but why has it been rough?"

well, because i'm not fucking pregnant yet.

we've been trying for a baby (i hate this phrase) for ten months? ish? and nothing has happened. in school they made it sound like you skip protection once and you'll get knocked up; my mom got accidentally pregnant twice. and here i am, charting dates and peeing on ovulation predictor sticks and tracking symptoms and the whole nine yards, timing sex and taking fucking prenatals and vitamins and not eating sushi or steak during the two week wait and not drinking at all, and all i've gotten to show for it is my fucking period, every month like clockwork.

the studies say, it can take up to a year. yes, most couples get pregnant within six months, but sometimes it takes longer. sure, fine, whatever.

so it's been hard enough trying to get pregnant and then failing (because it does feel like failing, every time), but then two things happened in quick succession:

my best friend got pregnant, sort of accidentally;

i got sent for bloodwork and the results caused my doctor to refer me straight to a fertility clinic.

when i saw the results i cried, but i thought i was just spiraling and being over dramatic. sure, my AMH is really low, but it's technically still in range, and that's not everything, right? my other tests were mostly fine, not totally out of the normal range. then i called my doctor's office, only to be told "we're referring you to a clinic, your ob/gyn doesn't think you'll get pregnant without treatment."

it's a hell of a thing to be told while standing in the pasta aisle of a grocery store.

in the midst of being referred to the clinic, i of course googled. read articles and papers. cried to my husband, my mom, my friends. of course the clinic was booking weeks out; in three weeks i'll go for my first appointment. my mom said, well maybe now you'll get pregnant. it happens, you know - people struggle and then as soon as they get booked to see a specialist, or start IVF, they get pregnant.

my period started over the weekend. it was not a good time.

the thing about trying for a baby is that every month is the same fucking rollercoaster, only you can't get off, and despite knowing exactly how it'll go, it's still somehow traumatic every time. every cycle there's the devastation when your period starts, followed by the hopeful/planning mode of "let me now track ovulation, let's chart out when we need to have sex." then there's the actual sex - trying to still have fun with it as opposed to the clinical "literally all we need is for you to finish," though sometimes it is just the quickie before work or after dinner because it's Fertile Week and we need to optimize our chances so it doesn't matter if it's not very romantic, we can have romantic sex later. after that it's the waiting game, the two weeks of overanalyzing every ache, every twinge, of looking up expected due dates and thinking about how to announce to family and friends, of hoping and thinking that maybe you are actually pregnant - all followed by the two, three days leading up to your period where every trip to the bathroom has the potential to devastate. where every pms symptom is enough to set off a fresh round of tears until your period actually starts. i've stopped taking pregnancy tests early. the stark white negatives (or rude NO - on the digital tests) was too much for me to handle in my already hormonal, pms state.

it hasn't been a year, which makes me feel like i shouldn't be so upset already. on the other hand, my egg reserve is apparently incredibly low - that is, i'm rapidly running out of eggs, and who knows if the ones i've got are even any good. in three weeks we'll see a fertility specialist, and based on my extensive research and trolling on reddit and listening to podcasts, i'm fairly confident they're going to tell us it's IVF or bust.

because i'm running out of eggs, for reasons that might not exist, or might just be "sometimes things just suck for certain people." some people get a diagnosis of "unexplained infertility," which basically means the doctors have run every test and there's no reason you can't get pregnant. we aren't in that camp, we're likely in the "diminished ovarian reserve" camp. for reasons that are unexplained.

meanwhile, my best friend is pregnant, and i can't talk to her without crying.

we moved into a bigger house a year ago in preparation for kids. we got our finances in order, we made sure our marriage was solid, we planned - and now? we've always wanted two, maybe three. at this point i think we'll be lucky to get one. maybe i'm being pessimistic. i'm trying to be confident but also realistic. IVF doesn't work for everyone. even my clinic, which has the best numbers in the state, has a 63% success rate. sounds great, and it is - but that's 37% of couples who don't go home with a baby. nationally, the outcomes are something like 50ish% of IVF cycles will result in a live birth (they measure by both pregnancy and live birth, because even if you've managed to get pregnant, there's no guarantee you'll stay pregnant.)

today is a good day, by the way. today i can talk to my mom, i can call up our insurance, i can write this and be factual and calm and not crying. today i feel like we have a good chance, like we will end up with a take home baby. today i'm cleaning my house and looking up meal plans to increase my fertility. exercise regimens to help me get in shape to increase my fertility. tomorrow might be a bad day. bad days are when i can barely get off the couch, where i cry at the thought or mention of my fertility. where a tiktok of a dad and baby sends me spiraling. when it all feels fucking useless and unfair.

today is a good day. i don't know what tomorrow's going to be yet.

i've been isolating all summer, which isn't hard to do when most of my friends aren't local. but i find i don't want to be around anyone, really. i don't want to talk to people. i don't want to be asked how i'm doing, i don't want to be asked what's new or what i've been up to.

"i've been cleaning my house and trying to get pregnant and failing. last week i made a new recipe, and today i cried."

it's not an exciting life i'm leading these days. and anyway, no one wants to hear about fertility struggles.

it's not that i'm too stressed. i don't need to go on vacation, or get drunk and have sex, or relax and then i'll get pregnant. sure, i could use a vacation, but that's not the magic ticket. the problem isn't lack of sex. i have depression; the stress is always there, but that's why i see my therapist and my psychiatrist. that's why i take my meds and do my self-soothing shit.

i'm not pregnant because i'm just not. and hopefully the specialist will have a plan and hopefully that plan has a more than 30% chance of succeeding, and hopefully we get to bring a baby home - but today? today i'm not pregnant, and it's not a guarantee that i ever will be.

so even though today is a good day, i'm still really fucking sad.

but, you know. i'm trying to have hope.

that, too, is a cycle.

[male-to-less-male-derogatory]

Quick rundown on WHY this was a gross ethics breach: [TL;DR: it's a neuralink kinda story: someone mimics existing methods, then does them worse and with insane risks for no fucking reason]

-parents agreed because they weren't allowed to have IVF otherwise due to the father being HIV-positive, and the """consent form""" claimed that if they backed out after the first round of IVF, they'd have 10 days to "pay back all the costs the project team has paid for you"????? and holy shit it somehow gets worse

-so this guy? No medical qualifications, it turns out. Never took a bioethics course either.

-he fucked up and deleted the gene he was trying to change, which is involved in immune system signalling. Successful edits had already been done to this gene in humans, even curing HIV once, just not heritably in an embryo because it doesn't actually make sense as a thing to do

-the point was to protect the kids from HIV... but besides some strains using other proteins, and besides other methods like sperm-washing being available to stop infection from the parents, he only managed to partially apply the changes, so the unchanged gene might still be expressed. Because of course.

-the experimental and clinical conduct was riddled with flaws, from fucked up consent forms to actually doing research right

-doing all of this IN SECRET, misappropriating funds, forging documents, all that jazz

the question that really haunts me...

Do you think those kids were his first attempt? With all the secrecy and forgery, do you think there's couples out there that gave dozens of eggs in failed tries and maybe even had adverse pregnancy events, only for everything to stop when he was kicked out of every institution?

This is the guy who made the first genetically-engineered babies (a horrific ethics violation that landed him 3 years in prison) and his tweets are so unhinged that I genuinely can't tell if he's trying to be funny or is 100% serious

[drpriyankurroy]

Genetic Screening in IVF - A Key to Reducing Birth Defect Risks

In recent years, reproductive treatments have advanced by leaps and bounds, with treatments such as IVF, ICSI, and other methods. Along with this, the diagnostic tests for various conditions that could hamper embryo health have evolved rapidly.  Genetic screening is one such test that has become a game changer the minimizing risks related to birth defects and genetic conditions.

The best IVF center in Siliguri often suggests that couples going through IVF take these tests, as they help get insight into the possible success rate of the pregnancy. Understanding how genetic screening works and why it matters can help couples make more informed decisions. In this blog, we will be discussing the role played by genetic screening in minimizing risks and other related topics to raise awareness.

Understanding the importance of genetic screening

Genetic screening involves the analysis of the embryo after it has been cultured in the lab and before the implantation process.  There are two specific types of genetic testing,

PGT-A, which checks for chromosomal abnormalities and

PGT-M checks genetic mutations that can lead to issues such as inherited diseases.

Implanting an embryo with undetected abnormalities can lead to failed pregnancies, miscarriages, or long-term health complications for the child. This can take a toll on the mental, physical, and financial burden that is already felt by the potential parents. Thus, genetic screening enhances the chances of selecting the healthiest embryo, which can improve the succes rate of implantation.

The Science Behind the Process

The procedure of genetic screening is pretty straightforward. After fertilization takes place, the specialist at IVF centers in Siliguri lets the embryo culture until it reaches the blastocyst stage. At this stage, the specialist extracts a small section of tissue for genetic testing. During this process, they tend to leave the part that forms the fetus untouched. This minimally invasive biopsy is then sent for genetic analysis.

After the embryo is tagged to be normal without any genetic conditions, they are set aside with priority for implantation. Other embryo treatments are:  eft can be frozen or even discarded according to the wishes of the couple. Couples at the best IVF center in Siliguri also receive detailed genetic counseling as part of their care.

Advantages of Genetic Screening in IVF

Let us now look into some advantages of  genetic screening

With screening tests, couples can identify conditions and select the best embryo to be implanted for a healthy outcome, ensuring a high success rate.

The emotional and financial burden becomes less as the screening can help avoid multiple cycles or multiple miscarriages.

With genetic screening, specialists can identify genetic disorders and help couples stop them from being passed down to the next generation.

If couples wish for twins, with the help of this screening, doctors can reduce the risks by selecting two of the healthiest embryos.

Knowing the embryo is free of known genetic defects offers immense psychological comfort to would-be parents.

Limitations of Genetic Screening

Although the advantages are significant, it's crucial to recognize that genetic screening isn't a cure-all. It does not evaluate all potential scenarios, nor can it ensure a completely healthy baby. Moreover, it necessitates access to sophisticated laboratory resources and skilled geneticists. This is one of the main reasons why it is essential to research well before selecting an IVF center in Siliguri, and before starting any treatments or tests for IVF.

Conclusion

Genetic screening is a responsible step that should be taken by all couples going through IVF.  This is especially important for couples with known genetic risks, this technology offers a layer of reassurance and control that previous generations could only dream of.

At the best IVF center in Siliguri, couples can access the most advanced genetic screening services backed by expert guidance and emotional support.t