Hi, my friends, Thanks for all your kind words and thoughts recently.  Last night I took a HPT and it was negative.  I had just kind-of bounded into the bathroom after work and P'edOAS.  For some reason I had decided it would be positive because the spotting hadn't continued and I hadn't gotten my period yet. But the second line didn't appear.  I watched the liquid climb across the test, and I had a sinking feeling that it wasn't going to do anything unusual.  And it didn't. I told James when he came in from looking at his garden.  He hadn't known I was going to take the test.  I gave a thumbs down.  And then he looked down and pouted and walked around the kitchen for a while (and it's a small kitchen).  Later when he was up to talking again, he said that next time if we had eleven embryos, by god we'd put them all in and then do selective abortion.  I didn't mention that we don't ever have eleven embryos; two is usually all we have available to transfer anyway.  But yeah, I didn't bring that up. I didn't cry.  I guess I'm numb.  It was a lot easier to watch the HPT than wait for the nurse's call, with lots of ceremony.  I'll cry later, I'm sure.  Probably in public.  Probably in a grocery store with babies all around. I'm so glad that we did the Shared Risk program and just have to come up with more medicine and, well, the energy to do it again.  But I'm so sad to have to put James through it again.  When I'm out of commission he has to bear the emotional burden, do the cooking, do the caretaking.  Do the injections.  And I just have to tolerate myself and my hormones. More later, I'm sure.