My lovely husband Nick and I have been trying to conceive for almost a year. After all this time and no luck, we decided to take the step of seeing an infertility doctor. One ultrasound (and $500 bucks) later, we were told that I have Polycystic Ovarian Disease (PCOD). Awesome.
I've always grown up in fear of not being able to have a child - I have always, ALWAYS wanted to be a mother. Having that fear of infertility realized was awful. We went home, I went straight upstairs, and proceeded to sleep for two hours. (I go comatose in response to bad news. It's a handy little 'self-protective' reaction of mine.) I called my mom later that night and bawled to her. So incredibly unfair. So incredibly heartbreaking. So incredibly hurtful.
So, once I pulled myself together, we started rounds of Clomid (aka - Satan's drug), with more rounds of transvaginal ultrasound (aka - mega bucks). (Oh, and insert a big middle finger here to the insurance companies, who won't cover a penny of infertility treatments.) Every month we would do the Clomid, go in for the ultrasound, annnnnnddddd....*cricket*cricket*. I swear my husband has probably ovulated more than I have in the past two years.
So our last round of Clomid we went to the highest dose they will Rx (hooray for side effect HELL!) A few weeks later we went in for our ultrasound and there it was...EGGY! (Yes, we named the egg. And yes, we named it Eggy.) We were given our "do it" orders and sent on our merry way to procreate. If I hadn't had a period in 2 1/2 weeks, do a home pregnancy test.
Fast forward 2 1/2 weeks. No period. I was so antsy the entire two weeks to take the damn test, and then when it came down to actually having to pee on the stick I was terrified. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to be disappointed. I peed anyway, and two minutes later got a big "NOT PREGNANT". Ugh. Gut shot. I tossed it into the trash, brushed off my husband's hugs and consoling words, and got into the shower and sat down and sobbed. I felt like such a failure. So guilty. My husband wants a child SO BADLY, and we can't have one because of me. This infertility business is one ugly walk to have to take, and it feels like it decimates your identity as a woman.
Went to the doctor that night to try to figure out what the hell was going on. Ultrasound didn't show much, so they took some labs to check my hormone levels. Next afternoon I get a call from the doctor with my results. Hormone levels look great, progesterone and estrogen are fine, and oh, you're pregnant. I instantly started crying (and then furiously apologizing for crying), and shaking. I. Am. Knocked. Up.
Later that night I wrote Nick a card thanking him for what an amazing supportive partner he's been these past months. The last line was 'I can't wait to see you holding our baby someday...' and then on the back it said 'and if my calculations are correct, that day should be in approximately mid-December'. I gave it to him that evening, and he read through it quickly and threw me a "Thanks babe, love you too". I glared at him and suggested, "Why don't you read it a little closer?" After a few more read-throughs, his eyes got big and he started giggling. (And crying, though I'm sure he doesn't want me to add that part...) He is going to be a truly amazing father...
So here we are...A mere three weeks out (give or take). We're having my HcG levels checked every 48 hours to make sure Eggy is still progressing nicely (yes, I'm aware that it should be Zygoty now, but Eggy just has a better ring. Plus we'd have to keep changing it to things like "Embry" or "Fetusy". Definitely not as cute and leaves room for confusion, no?) So far all looks good...
Next step: Operation Surprise the New Grandparents...
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