Today’s the day.
As this post goes live, I’m sitting in the RE’s office, waiting to be seen. To be heard. To (hopefully) get a diagnosis.
I haven’t been able to focus on anything else since yesterday. The last 24 hours have been anxiety-ridden, to say the least. I’ve tried to think about what I might ask this doctor, but nothing came to mind. I didn’t even know where to start. Last night, I kept starting to type out questions and ended up deleting them, either because I thought they were crap or because I figured the doctor would be answering them before I had a chance to ask.
I always imagine the worst-case scenario and then have trouble shifting my thought process to any other possible narrative. Maybe it’s a way of preparing myself for the worst possible news, but it doesn’t always mean that I find myself hoping for the best. I get to a place where hope is a foreign word and then I’m lost.
What if they tell me that my eggs — if I even have any left — aren’t viable? Well, at least I have one child, but I selfishly want one more. I know that probably makes me sound horrible, especially to all my friends who’ve had miscarriages or have otherwise been unable to have children of their own. I have a child, and I love my child, but I would love for him to have a sibling. That was the dream from the time I first pictured myself as a mother: happily married in a small-yet-comfortable house with a couple of dogs and two kids. When I was younger, knowing that I would only bring one child into the world presented me with an incomplete picture. Maybe it’s because I have a twin sister and we were brought up together, the two of us. But I’ve always wanted two kids of my own.
What if they tell me that our only chance of conceiving another child means agreeing to a procedure that we can’t afford? In that case, we’re just screwed. In-vitro fertilization is not cheap, and The Hubby and I don’t have oceans of money to begin with. If there is literally no chance of us conceiving without the help of IVF, we’ll have to accept the reality that there will be no more children in our future. I know Hubs is okay with that but it will require me to (very reluctantly) readjust that “complete family” image I was telling you about a minute ago. It won’t be painless to do, but if it has to be done I won’t have much of a choice.
These are just two worst-case scenario contenders. It’s been hard not to focus on them, or others, but I’ve forced myself to at least try. My family deserves that and so do I. Now it’s a waiting game: we’re in the office now, hopefully hearing something new from this doctor, and it’s a safe bet that I’ll be sharing my experience tomorrow as my Talking Fitness Thursday post.
Ready or not…