Back to Back to Back to Back…

We’re sad. We’re tired. We don’t know what is next. I feel silly and don’t know how to gather up buckets of hope anymore.

I’ve been avoiding writing about anything, really. Starting a family is constantly on my mind, and when it isn’t, some random person will innocently ask, “Do you have any kids?” The past year has been one long, slow, tedious race. Waiting for test results, waiting for doctors to get back from vacation, waiting for the lab to re-open after it’s summer closure, waiting, waiting, and more waiting.

We were scheduled for a transfer in September, possibly our third or even fourth attempt to transfer, and that got cancelled due to my thin uterine lining. We then set our sights on October 13. I went back on meds, became obsessively attuned to my body, my schedule of supplements, vitamins, and prescriptions, and went to our 6:30 a.m. appointment on a Sunday, in early October. We were told that the lining was still thin but that there was still time. Meds were upped, hormones unraveled, and we went back to the doctor this past Friday to check my lining.

I was so good this time. I took my medicine at the right time, three times a day, I made sure that I didn’t forget any of the supplements, tried to sleep, tried not to stress, and, on Friday, we found out that my lining had actually gotten thinner, instead of thicker. The transfer was off, yet again.

In the same message, we found out that our doctor was retiring and that we would now meet our new doctor, the following week, to go over next steps, blah, blah, blah. This round, both physically and emotionally, was tough. I am someone who loves my jobs, and getting out of bed somedays, was uncharacteristically difficult, and putting on a smile for my students was even more challenging. Before we even got the results, as we drove to Trader Joe’s, I told my partner that I didn’t know if I had another “try” left in me. He, of course, was so understanding and admitted that he didn’t know how I was able to keep going with all the hormones, cancelations, and tests, as it was already. From the beginning, he made sure I knew that when it became too much for me that we would stop. I was in control of how we move forward. I can’t even explain how lucky I am. My partner is someone I couldn’t even dream up. Even when he doesn’t get my mood swings or my snappy responses, he supports me, and I am extremely grateful. (Couples infertility counseling has been such a gift for us too.)

Friday was the worst. I had a feeling that the transfer would get cancelled, but I also let myself hope that things would be different this time. The clock ticks louder and louder every day for us. I am 43, and while I know that’s not old, I also know that it isn’t young. We don’t want to be dead when our kid grows up and does all the things that future parents dream for their little one. Along with the clock ticking, is a dwindling money reserve and the ever present reality that there is a deadline, no matter what we choose to do.

Last night, as we sat at the bar eating dinner at a cozy restaurant by our house, I told my partner that I had one more try in me. That I couldn’t imagine walking away from our embryo, or even making the decision of whether we keep the embryo in the bank indefinitely or that we donate it. I can’t imagine making that choice right now, and I try to not even think about it. Walking away is something I can’t fathom, but I also know that it is something that we may have to face.

My partner asked at dinner, “If we had all the money in the world, what would you do, honey?” I told him, without hesitation, that I would set our search on a surrogate. That we would go through an agency, pay the $100,000 for someone to be the “home” for our embryo, and hope for the best. This option? Not feasible and it feels like extreme privilege, on my part, to even think about it as a choice, when I know so many struggle to even get as far as we have in fertility treatment. The whole industry is unfair and for those who have money, supportive friends and family, and endless resources. I know we are among some of the luckiest for we wouldn’t be here without our family and framily. We are blessed in so many ways. This, I know for sure.

I don’t want to become a bitter person who only sees what we don’t have, instead of what we do have. But, right now, it’s hard to muddle through the fog, the mess, the confusion…it all feels overwhelming and unclear. For now, we wait, again, for our next appointment. For now, there is nothing we can do.