Depending on the clinic you are going to, or the type of procedure you are doing, the news you get during the infertility day to day is going to suck probably more than half the time.
Yes the follicles are growing, but not as fast as hoped.
Yes the lining is thick, but not quite where it needs to be.
Yes the sample was okay, but there were a lot of pin headed, and even triple headed sperm in there…do you think you could provide another sample, right now? (based on personal experience).
Those are the little ones.
Then you get the big ones.
Like when we had a doctor that specialized in immune treatment told Lisa that she would never get pregnant unless we did his immune treatment.
Or when our RE said my sperm were so lousy and Lisa’s endo was so bad that we should go straight to donor embryo.
In the early first first few years of our infertility cycles we immediately went to panic. Then usually angry expletives were flying like an Eddie Murphy stand up routine (or whoever is the resident cursing comedian of the 21st Century).
After the curse words stopped, there were tears and despair. Maybe an escape to the world of violent action movies or to the back yard to scream out to to God “This is more than I can take!”
Later on, we would pause awhile to absorb the full impact.
What was the demeanor of the doctor or staff member who gave us the news?
Had we read any research that refuted what the doctor was recommending as a result of that news?
Was it time to get a second opinion? Or a third one? Or a fourth one?
One thing that we learned from getting so many different opinions about our case during our six years of cycles was that everybody has a different one.
Technology changes. Resources become available that weren’t available before. Specialties arise that might not have been around when you first got the news.
It comes back to being clear on what you want.
And being ready to grieve the loss of a vision that you might have had, that you will now need to see differently.
Our vision of having a child from a Hollywood night of lovemaking was altered the minute we did our first infertility cycle.
Then being able to do the old turkey baster squirt didn’t work, even though the doctor who we first saw said we’d be pregnant after three months. In that case, that meant instead of celebrating a baby by Christmas that year, I was visualizing the doctor as I played shooting video games when Lisa got her period on Christmas Eve.
You get my point.
Before we entered the world of IVF with a reproductive endocrinologist, we grieved the loss of the embryos that didn’t make it before. I wrote about that in Burial, Resurrection and IVF.
We had to close the door on that vision in the rear view mirror before we could turn the corner in a new direction.
It’s really hard to see in front of you, if you are still looking at what you left behind.
Make sure you say your goodbyes. .
Then tear that rear view mirror off and focus on the road ahead.