It has been almost exactly three years since I was reminded
daily that I’m infertile. Now it is nearly impossible to forget as I prepare to
go through my second frozen embryo transfer.
I had forgotten about how tricky it is to get all of the logistics
planned around a schedule that is already busy and this time, has a toddler and
baby-sitter schedule thrown in. Last
time, the Sir was getting paid to go to school, but this time he’s in a very
busy, active duty position and when you need a driver because you’re going to
be pumped full of Xanax, that can get tricky to coordinate.
I had forgotten how easily it is to get overwhelmed (or
occasionally encouraged) by the dozens of statistics that I can’t help but look
up online (I know---that’s stupid). Comparing our embryo to others to see if
they were successful after a transfer.
Looking up rates of miscarriage with a B- rated embryo. Trying to find any similar stories about
people that transferred embryos with chromosomal abnormalities and ended up
pregnant and with a healthy baby in their arms.
It is like trying to run your odds at a gambling table in Vegas even
though no one’s experience is ever going to mirror or impact your own.
Someone’s win on a pair of threes, doesn’t mean that same hand will give me a jackpot,
too.
I had forgotten how physically I am affected before the
transfer even occurs. The stress
typically gives me nightmares and those have been frequently manifesting
already. The testing I have to redo this round is painful and has typically
blown the rest of my day as I try to recover or grit my teeth through the pain
post-procedure.
I had forgotten how the prayer in my head is more constant
than ever…Praying for courage. Praying that all this effort and cost pays off.
Praying for a pregnancy, one that is healthy and goes full term. Praying that
this doesn’t end in disappointment and heartache. Praying that I can be a good
mom and wife in the midst of the chaos. Praying for our son.
We have chosen to not go through this process again---this
is it for us. And so I am sure someday I will forget…that these details will
blur together into one lump experience of infertility. That it will be a period
of time that will be a blurry memory when I think back to it. But the hope is that I can look over to my
son, to my daughter, and not care about all the details that I have forgotten
to get them at my dinner table.
Because despite it all, I am still going to step forward in
the prayer that someone will be handing me a baby.
