Saturday, December 20, 2008

To Cycle or Not to Cycle – IVF Is the Question

We have not arranged financing, called the nurse coordinator to make an IVF orientation appointment, or had my FSH levels tested to check my ovarian reserve. We’re in a holding pattern. All of this will need to happen in January, but for now I’m enjoying the “lull” after a year of intense pain, three months of blood tests, transvaginal ultrasounds, surgery, and post-op appointments. I’m reading to prepare for what lies ahead (can one ever really be prepared?) , healing from the Endo laparoscopy, and generally just trying to take a break to enjoy the holidays. We will need to wait until February to cycle. In the meantime, we are faced with the “Do we really want to put ourselves through this?”question and “Can we really afford it?” The answer to the first question is, “No, but we have an irrational, biological need to procreate and IVF/ICSI is the only way.” The answer to question 2 is, “No, but see answer to Q1.”

My clock is ticking louder every day. Birthdays and periods certainly don’t help to take one’s mind off the topic. I’m increasingly facing a deadline and realizing it’s “Now or Never.”

Hubby seems distant, sulking, disinterested. I suspect he’s in denial about it all and I’m getting angry because he is unwilling or unable to express his feelings. I know he’s having a hard time with the details, but he’s such a pragmatist that I can understand that he comes across as disinterested. To his mind, it’s “Let’s just do it. No point in procrastinating, or reading all there is to know. It is what it is.” I interpret his laissez faire approach to mean that he doesn’t care. Which I know isn’t true. It just bugs me that he’s not reading, asking questions, or being as “present” as I’d like him to be. Somewhere deep inside, I fear that this is a precursor to him being distant and disinterested in any future child(ren) we may have.

Friday, December 19, 2008

IF Makes Me Trilingual, and Counting

There’s much more to worry about than I ever knew. This journey, with its gutwrenching highs and lows, is well-documented by brave women across the globe. Contrary to what I thought, it’s not that hard to find someone cycling, dealing with insurmountable odds. (In our case, MFI and FFI – Endo Stage IV attempting IVF/ICSI.)

Despite all the emotional turmoil, learning to decipher infertility acronyms is just one more overwhelming obstacle in a road riddled with bumps, pitfalls, milestones and footsteps of those who have gone before. With every new term you discover, you realize you’re slowly entering a collective consciousness that you never chose to be part of. How to make the PIO shots easier, deal with the 2WW, to POAS or not. I still don’t know what 6dp3dt means, but I’m sure I’ll be enlightened soon…

It’s both comforting and disturbing to read everyone’s stories, heartaches, journeys and outcomes. I find myself anxiously awaiting the news from people I do not know, but care about. Every beta day, every BFN, could be my own and it helps to answer the “What if this were me?” question.

I catch myself playing “What if?” more frequently, as I try to come to terms with the infinite number of outcomes. “What if the cycle is canceled?” “What if no embies make it?” “What if I get a BFN?” “What if I m/c?” I resent fertile women who bypass “Go” and start their journey at the “What if I m/c?” phase. Of course, I realize that once you’re pregnant, and have a child or children, the “What ifs?” are infinite too.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

From Sea to Shining Sea

Infertility makes you question your being, your sense of self. Suddenly equilibrium is beyond reach, a constantly downward shifting goal. If I could only get pregnant, if I could only resolve the pain, if I could only test negative for ovarian cancer, if only it wasn’t stage IV endo, if I could only get through the day without sobbing at the sight of a parent hugging his child. Holding onto the dream when despair cloaks every cell, hormones rage, and I’m an ocean away from support, seems infinitely impossible. The firmer the grasp on the floating dingy, the more I bob about uncontrollably, at the mercy of an endless sea of disappointment.