So. I practically did backflips out of the fertility clinic today, scrambling for my phone and shifting into the mindset that I had amazing news to share. Yep, my brain was practically pregnant, I just had to wait for the belly part to catch up.
But I just got off the phone with a doctor, who told me that based on blood results, things are actually the opposite of amazing.
I'll start from the beginning of the day. This morning I went to have the first ultrasound where we get a look at how my ovaries are responding to the shots. I was floored watching the doctor, as he casually measured three, beautifully round follicles. THREE?! My eyes welled up. I couldn't believe there was a single one, let alone three. I was so proud of my little body.
The doctor snapped off his gloves and told me that, compared to my cycle two years ago, we had a night and day situation. He said I was impressively way ahead of schedule and could possibly be preparing for the egg retrieval this weekend. He bet that my eggs would easily create embryos, since - 1. I'm young (29, twice) and 2. I had one single egg that created Carter.
I went to have my blood taken for an estrogen measurement before I floated on fluffy clouds out of the office. Next week I'll probably be pregnant.
I reported to Matt and my mom, then I took Carter out on a little lunch date to celebrate.
An hour ago, the same doctor called me, his voice saturated in complete, apologetic tone. Based on my super low estrogen level results, it's as if my body hasn't responded to the drugs. Like, at all. He said that, with estrogen like this, there was no way what we'd seen this morning were follicles. They're cysts. Very happily growing, deceptive, fluid-filled cysts. By this point, I started to actually process what he was apologizing for - There were zero follicles.
Listening to him, I felt eerily amused. Maybe because I've conquered this monster of disappointment before, and now I've mastered the art of shrugging the monster off. I drifted off to a numbness devised by knowledge that I've had worse news. And many times, at that. He continued with explanations, and my mind kept whispering the phrase Of course. Of course.
Of course.
My case is always puzzling doctors. I hate that they attempt apologies, and I have to do the reassuring, because I'm used to fertility failures. He went on to tell me I really should count my blessings, that it's unbelievable Carter exists. Believe me, I'm the last person you need to say that to. I feel completely humbled even requesting that the universe gift us with another child. I have no functioning reproductive parts.
I was offered two options:
1. We can quit this cycle altogether and try again another month, with the possibility that my ovaries would respond differently.
2. We can double the medication to an unheard of dosage, shoot a hail mary, and see if a follicle shows its face in another ultrasound on Friday morning.
I chose the second option, even though it means squandering the $300 we spent on meds. When I hung up the phone, my pokerface fell to the floor, and emotion hit me pretty hard. It looks like we can't have another baby. Then I looked down at Carter's face, playing alone, obliviously with his trains, and it hit even harder. I feel downright mad on his behalf.
My doctors in Pennsylvania had warned us that as time passed, my ovaries would be less apt to respond, and they were right. A lot of women wait until their late twenties and early thirties to have a baby. My husband pushed for us to start trying early, and had he settled for me to let one single day more pass, my body may not have been able to produce Carter's egg. When I think of that, I feel time stand still and the room spin around me.
Husbands were meant to win some battles. I love my husband.
I can't sit and explore this anymore tonight, because my mind's exhausted itself with highs and lows today. As I stand now, my feeling is this: You can't have everything in life. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try anyway.
