bad news.

This will be my first blog entry in which I'll find it very difficult not to curse. Those words just feel the most fitting right now. 

We had our first monitoring appointment yesterday and it didn't go well, to say the least. I had been really excited about it because my belly felt so full--a great sign! I'd endured several nights of shots that I'd given to myself (my personal nightmare, for those who are unaware of my former phobia of needles), and now came the fun part. It would be our first indication of how the rest of the cycle would go. So the ultrasound began and the only thing visible on the screen looked like a large black mass. Where we should have seen lots of little follicles, there was just a giant void. Oh ovaries, aren't you clever with your perfect little metaphors. Turns out that instead of having lots of small to medium sized follicles as we would have expected, I had one mega follicle. Not good. In IVF, there are a whole series of hurdles you have to overcome and I busted on the first one. The cycle was cancelled. I was really upset about that, but it got worse. As my doctor later explained, my body's response was indicative of ovarian dysfunction, diminished ovarian reserve, and poor egg quality. Something we've suspected, but this sealed the deal. I've continued to whittle down my status until I've found myself in the most elite class of infertile women. That accomplishment doesn't feel as good as you might imagine. I'm crushed and feeling completely disheartened. 

I don't know what we're going to do going forward and I need to know. I don't do well in limbo. My doctor says he wants to wait to see how this cycle plays out before deciding next steps, but that's not going to work for my sanity. Yesterday he told me that I can convert to either an IUI or timed intercourse for now. My response was, "it doesn't matter what we do, it's not going to work." I guess he thought I was joking because he laughed, but it's true. Tomorrow we have an IUI scheduled, but I'm just going through the steps. I need to know what comes after that. If the odds for conceiving with my new diagnosis are as bad as I'm anticipating, maybe it's time to throw in the towel. It would be heartbreaking for me to give up on something I want so desperately, but I just can't keep doing this. Physically, emotionally, and financially, we can't afford to keep going if the odds aren't in our favor. How bitterly disappointing this process can be.

Yesterday someone told me, "it's not like you've lost something; you just haven't gained anything." I think it must be an impossible concept to grasp unless you've personally faced the inability to have children, but it reminded me of a quote from Laura Bush that really spoke to me:

The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful some not. Still we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only “I’m sorry for your loss.” But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?

portrait of deep gratitude

We have Evie, and words can't express how thankful I am to have that little girl. I am profoundly grateful for her and that has carried me through some really difficult times. Separately, I would love to have more, but obviously I will shift that focus if need be. Figuring that out is our next hurdle.