In case you’re just joining, check out this first post on this topic and just keep on reading.
The pregnant-not-pregnant-hepatitis story left off with the ears of a health department employee ringing and me sufficiently drunk to relax and laugh about it…a little.
Then came the inevitable question: Now what?
If you ever find yourself in a remotely similar situation, here’s what everyone tells you:
- Take it easy
- Enjoy yourself
- Try again in a few months, but again, r e l a x
My need for plans and to know where the year was going made this relaxation difficult. We’d cancelled Burning Man plans (my idea of fun so does not mix with pregnancy, hello two heads) and found ourselves looking at a loooong summer with no idea what was in the future.
But you can’t rush nature, everyone says, and the more you try to rush her the more she screws with you. Right. Well, I felt screwed enough already so I went to my doctor with explicit questions and from that visit decided that the course of action for the next few months would be moving forward with trying again right away, while enjoying myself as much as possible.
I’m glad we did that because, as I said, nothing happened. Again.
I mean I figured nothing would happen right away, but I had hoped that something would happen soon. But it didn’t. So after a few tests where I figured out my thyroid wasn’t functioning at optimum levels, I went to the super fertility doc in the area.
What a whirlwind. My first appointment set the stage for my future expectations for him. I was in and out inside of ten minutes. But he covered a lot of territory in that time. Bluntly.
“Well, you don’t seem to have sideburns or a hairy face, and your weight seems normal so I doubt that we’re dealing with PCOS.”
“This could all be your husband’s fault, but since you miscarried it could be a little of both of you.”
“The fever after your surgery could indicate an infection that may have blocked or damaged one or both of your fallopian tubes.”
“We’ll need to monitor your cycle and check your progesterone levels. I don’t want to leave anything to chance at this point, you’re at that age.”
And so we got to work, figuring things out.
I can’t say that I ever really warmed up to this guy, but for all his bluntness and brusque manner, each visit left me feeling that we were at least moving forward. Still, no magic happened. Because there I was on my 35th birthday being told I could be setting myself up for disaster if I left things in nature’s hands. In this case nature wasn’t just a bitch, she’d made me hers.
I was worried about what it would cost, and I was worried about what it would be like doing it, but I told him that after the holidays we were ready to go forward with IUI. I’d had enough of monitoring and enough of schedules. Time to medically intervene.
In the meantime, it was perfect timing for some last hurrahs. The Glühwein stands were open at the Christmas markets, parties and outings were in abundance. Our apartment renovation and decoration project was in the race to the finish and my parents were coming in a week to join us for a two week vacation in Austria with Oliver’s family for Christmas and New Years.
I put away the iPhone apps and the testing kits and dove into the holidays.