Rough times ahead...

It has now been four days since the bomb dropped. I feel pretty good to tell you the truth. A large part of my shock and emotion was due to a report that seemed so different from what we were expecting.

I'm feeling better about my stand on IVF but my husband is struggling. To him it all seems so "mechanical" and not "natural". I did, of course, remind him that dating online was "mechanical" and not "natural" to me, but thanks to the big guy upstairs I joined match.com anyway. And was subsequently "winked" at by the wonderful, compassionate and super cute man who has been my husband for nearly four years. There is so much information and so many opinions out there about IVF and ART, that to preserve my sanity I'm just waiting to talk to our reproductive endocrinologist later this week. A week which no doubt will be full of stress, anxiety, tears, fears and tons of long, insightful conversations (which my husband hates). In the end though, I have no other choice than to put my faith and hope in God and wait for what He deems best for us. In the meantime, I admit, I'm probably going to do everything I can to help my husband see the "normalcy" in doing whatever we can to have a little one.

Stunned

Less than 20 minutes ago I was told that at the age of 35, the only way I would have children of my own is to go through a procedure that I'm not sure I am morally secure with. Stunned? You betcha, like a bird that sees a beautiful, dream like sky and only realizes after he falls to the ground with a crack in his beak that it was a REALLY clean window reflection.



I know that God is in control of everything, but how do I tell my husband? How do I tell my friends and family that have been rooting for us through all the stupid and embarassing tests? What do I tell them when they ask the hard questions? I suppose if I use big medical words they'll react like I did and just shut down for a bit trying to comprehend it all. Why do doctors use these crazy, big medical words when describing a diagnosis? I think it's the stun factor. If you are stunned they can finish what they have to say and either hang up or leave the room before you start crying. I don't really blame them though...how do you comfort someone who has just been told they have cancer or some other incurable disease?



Don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing my blocked fallopian tubes to medical diagnosis that ends in someone's death. I am for the moment, however, comparing it to a diagnosis that ends in the death of a dream. Do I want to go through the expense, the procedures, the moral ambiguity of invitro fertilization? Do I want to do everything I possible can to produce a child that is a combination of me and my husband? Do I want to potentially regret not having done everything I could to realize the second half of the dream I've had since childhood?



I'm sure, not long from now, I will return to my secure faith and belief that God has a perfect plan for us. Until then, I will just let it all hang out and be honest with my feelings. I'm scared, I'm stressed, I'm nervous, I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm sad and I'm relieved. I'm relieved because now I understand. After three years of early morning thermometer appointments, daily charting and perfectly timed trips to the bedroom I finally understand why I don't have a child to show for it.