DISCLAIMER: This entry is highly depressing, quite the downer and not at all happy-go-lucky. So, if you're looking to enjoy your holiday season, then stop here.
Just a little over 24 hours ago, I was merrily bobbing along, reveling in the holiday festivities, admiring the twinkling decorations in windows and gaily singing "Jingle Bell Rock" while cruising down the freeway. Christmas shopping done, presents wrapped and under the tree, DVD's lined up for cozy evenings snuggled under the covers - I was all ready to enjoy the holiday to the fullest. After last year, which was easily the worst Christmas I've ever had, I was looking forward to a very "merry" Christmas this year.
All was going well until the distressing phone consult with my doctor yesterday morning. As I expected and nervously anticipated, the news was exactly as my overactive mind had conjured, the day the nurse informed me that my doctor wished to speak with me.
Power of the mind or a gut feeling?
Perhaps I shouldn't have future tripped and entertained such dreadful thoughts? Did I jinx myself by putting out too much negativity into the Universe? Did I set myself up for this? Hmm, well...
I'd like to bank that this time was more of a gut instinct. Somehow, even before picking up the phone and listening to what the doc had to say, I inherently knew what I was about to hear...and I knew it wasn't going to be good.
Indeed, it wasn't good news.
It was those three little letters I dreaded hearing I....V....F. I knew it was coming, I felt its presences weighing in on me, I could feel the beast harrowing down upon me. I had avoided the enemy like the plague, refused to consider the infertility treatment as an alternative; wouldn't even go as far as to research the procedure in great detail as I deeply felt I would never need to take the IVF route.
I can't believe this day has arrived. I'm utterly astounded. After three times, five times, eight times, I am frozen in bewilderment. Starting off I once thought that 7-8 times, the average number of times it takes women to conceive using IUI, was an astounding number. I thought to myself, "Geesh, I'll be pregnant way before that!" Alas, here I am, number 10, above average. Way to go, T. Where's my medal?
So what, you ask, did my doctor say other than those horrid three letters? He explained that in the last three medicated cycles I've undergone (the injections), I have just about reached a year's worth of eggs. What does that mean? Even after asking for clarification, I'm not sure I entirely understand, as after I heard those dreadful three letters, I wasn't hearing anything too clearly. From the pieces of the conversation that I can put together, the doc said that my body has made about eight eggs (I guess 12 would be a year's worth? One a month, right?). A production of a year's worth of eggs appears to be Kaiser's scale for, "Uh, this is not working." The doc said that if I'm not pregnant on this cycle, than (and I quote), "It is unlikely you will get pregnant in this way." In this way, meaning medicated injections followed by an IUI.
I think it was at this point, when I heard the glaring word, "unlikely," that I fell apart. I tried oh so hard to keep my composure, hold it together and be a big girl. "Unlikely" made me crumble and collapse. There I was in the gym parking lot, a blubbering fool, with an empty tissue box. I drove home, sunglasses on, to shield the teary, puffy eyes, hyper-ventilating, full of anxiety, and damning the ridiculous Christmas songs on the radio.
I am just so damn pissed! Why must this be so difficult!? Women get pregnant every day! Some of which who aren't trying nearly as hard as I've been in the last 14 months. The little brat in me just doesn't understand why I'm not getting what I want so badly. I feel like plummeting face down into the carpeted floor, kicking, screaming, wailing, and pounding my fists into ground like a two year old having a tantrum. I've been a good girl this year - really, ask Santa. I'm a good person, I don't deserve this. Not that I'd wish this torment on my least favorite person.
Doc says I can try one or two more medicated cycles. I ask, what's the point? If I've reached the "year's worth of eggs" point, and I'm designated as "unlikely" to get pregnant, wouldn't I be beating a dead horse? Sorry, I'm clearly a "glass half empty" kinda gal right now. The only Christmas tune playing in my head right now is, "You're a Mean one Mr. Grinch."
So where am I? Well, waiting. Oh yeah, I'm mid cycle. Technically, I could be pregnant. Isn't that terrible? All this drama and sour news has taken my hope and squashed it to pieces. It's true, I really can be pregnant. I haven't got my period. It's just been awfully hard over the last two days to think happy, positive thoughts while this IVF crap terrorizes my well-being. Anyway, the Grinch in me feels not pregnant. I'm still not feeling any different than the previous "above-average" times.
Next steps? Well, for starters, crawl out from beneath the covers. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, followed of course, by Christmas day. I'm expected to be cheery, delightful and present. Places to be, people to see. Ugh, not looking forward to faking a smile and nodding pleasantly when someone asks how I've been.
Next? The waiting game. Hold out a few more days. Period followed by a whole lot of pouting or pregnancy and the perfect Christmas gift? Which will it be??? Only time will tell. Let's hope the magic and mysticism of the season prevails.
it's still too soon to tell either way (merry christmas, btw). and even if it doesn't go the way we're hoping it'll go, a baby from IVF is still a baby, and you may be upset to have to do it that way, but you won't be upset when you become a mum. no matter how that baby found its way into your arms. love.
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