Recently, I started getting the feeling that my mom wanted me to get IVF. I got this feeling because of several subtle remarks she’d made, such as, “If they knocked me out, I wouldn’t care about the egg harvesting at all, personally,” and “Me? I would have done anything to be able to have a child.” I was an English major, so I’m professionally trained to pick up subtext.
“Listen to me,” I told my sister. “Mom is pressuring me to have IVF, but she’s doing it in a sneaky mom way, so there’s no way I can say anything about it without sounding like a crazy person.”
We were on the phone, but I could still kind of hear her roll her eyes.
“She can’t make you do anything,” she reminded me. However, she would not promise to interrogate Mom the next time she was visiting, to see if I was right. She has morals, which is the only thing I don’t like about her. Continue reading
I’ve been feeling a little depressed lately about how much of this whole infertility struggle is on me.
Don’t get me wrong: my husband is supportive and as involved as he can be. Plus, you know, there’s the whole having to masturbate outside the privacy of his own home thing, which I imagine most men are carefully taught not to do, starting at a very young age.
But still, all of the medical risk and most of the aggravation are on my side. I realized that right at the start, of course, because I’d been trying to get pregnant for years, which naturally involves a lot of thinking that one might be pregnant, and scanning the ol’ body for signs of same. (And the signs are all gross: swelling, nausea, nipple changes, etc.)
But it really struck me how unfair all this is when we sat down with our reproductive endocrinologist to make a plan. Continue reading
I have eggs. Maybe even good ones. This is big news.
The hormone panels were a little inconclusive. My AMH levels were good … so good that my doctor was suspicious, especially when my FSH levels showed possibly diminished ovarian reserve.
The transvaginal ultrasound, which is like a regular ultrasound, only from the inside out, using a sort of robot dildo to take the pictures, showed healthy ovaries and several follicles, however, which means that we can’t count out the ol’ egg basket yet. Continue reading
Mr. ‘Face and I share a Google calendar. We do this because his job is shift-based, and mine is freelance, and otherwise, we’d never have any idea of what was coming up or where we were supposed to be. So it was with some amusement that I recently spotted the following entry in the calendar:
Tuesday: Dr. Whackit (call Monday to confirm)
Because I am a sensitive spouse, I immediately asked him about it. Continue reading
There are days when I think infertility is a gift.
Before you roll your eyes and click away, let me explain. I’m not trying to sell you a gratitude journal app or convince you that God has a plan for your life or that you should go vegan or start taking homeopathic anti-stress drops made primarily of brandy, or anything like that. I’m just saying that in a world where Donald Trump seems poised to win the Republican nomination, and perhaps the presidency, maybe it would be best to get a dog. The dog would love me and Mr. Gentlemanface, and when President Trump blew us all to kingdom come, I’d feel bad, but not, you know, baby-bad. Continue reading
To be fair, no one has said this to me in so many words. But I suspect that’s because they’re too busy telling me that I’ll change my mind about IVF.
Yesterday, I told you about how my gynecologist brought up adoption during my annual appointment. I didn’t tell you, because my rant was already far too long and involved, that she spend even more time telling me that I should get IVF.
See, it turns out, she had IVF. I found out, because when I gave her the update on our fertility testing and treatment plans, I included my usual caveat: “We’re willing to do anything up to IVF, but we don’t want to do that.” Continue reading
I don’t know what it is about dealing with infertiles, but people really seem to want to tell us that we should adopt. Never mind that adopting isn’t easy, inexpensive, or right for everyone. In most people’s minds, it’s as simple as trotting down to the orphanage and picking out little orphan Annie.
Even people who know better will suggest that adoption is the way to go. A really good friend of mine, one of the single nicest, most intuitive, and most emotionally intelligent people I know, recently suggested adoption to me in the most horrifying way I can imagine.
“Don’t close the door,” she said. “I could see you, in 10 years or so, really falling in love with an older child and being so happy you opened your home to them.”
“Did I do something to upset you?” I asked. “Because I don’t know why you’d say something like that to me otherwise.” Continue reading