Trying to Have a Baby, So My Doc Put Me on Birth Control: The Latest Roadblock RevealedAela Mass
Last Friday, I went for my sonohysterography and my hysterosalpingogram. No one was concerned that anything would come of these tests; both were precautionary procedures to check out my uterus and Fallopian tubes after the 17-week loss of my twins seven weeks ago.
But, of course, finding nothing and getting the green light to move forward with my frozen embryo transfer (FET) would have been too easy.
The doctors found “something.” No one knows what exactly. It could be nothing. It could be the worst thing in the world (whatever that is). At least, I say it could be the worst thing in the world because, really, if no one knows what this is, couldn’t it be anything? Couldn’t it be some awful something that messes with my future fertility? Couldn’t it be some awful tumor?
“We don’t know.” That’s all they’ve told me.
“We’ll know more when we look at it with a scope.”
Great! Another invasive procedure! I just love having doctor after doctor stick medical instrument after medical instrument up my vagina! This is SO fun!
So I’ve since been taken off estrogen, and placed on THE BIRTH CONTROL PILL! Isn’t that the dream of every woman trying to get pregnant? To be put on the pill?
My doctor has me taking birth control so that I don’t ovulate this month. He doesn’t want me ovulating because I have to have a hysteroscopy in two weeks to check out what exactly this thing inside of me is.
If he discovers that it’s something that needs to be removed, he will remove it that same day. If he discovers that it’s nothing, there will be no need to do anything.
To say that I’m exhausted from all of this is an understatement. Yes, I know a lot of women go through much worse for many years in order to get pregnant. But I’m not talking about those women today. I’m talking about my own experience. And I’m tired.
This is going to be my third IVF cycle. My vagina feels used. I’m tired of the doctor appointments. I’m sick of bad news and delays, delays, delays. My first IVF cycle was fully unsuccessful. My second cycle was technically successful — until my water broke at 17-weeks pregnant and I lost my twins. I’m at the point now where I can’t help but ask, “What next?”
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about throwing in the towel. Maybe I’m not cut out for all this after all. Maybe I’m not supposed to carry a child into this world. Maybe motherhood will come to me some other way.
As my wife and I left the fertility center last Friday after learning of our next setback, I — once again — sobbed on the ride home.
“I can’t do this anymore,” was all I was able to get out. “My body feels so used. I’m tired of it all.”
My wife and I have talked in the past about her carrying our children, but had agreed that I’d carry the first and she’d carry the second. Of course, that idea went out the window after I got pregnant with the twins — there would be no more carrying. So when she said in the car ride home that day that she’d do it, she’d carry, I passed the symbolic torch over to her. I was done.
Two hours later, after taking my frustration and exhaustion and sadness to Facebook, I managed to regain some strength and sense of purpose from all those in our corner. And a dear old friend of mine said to simply take each day as it comes, each steps as it comes, so that I don’t get overwhelmed by it all.
And I knew I wasn’t out of this game just yet.
I took the next couple of days to come to terms with the latest news on my journey. I said goodbye to the idea of a Valentine’s Day conception. I began taking the birth control pill nightly. I began obsessing less over whatever this thing is inside of me. And I’ve realized that this journey — in all its heartbreak, in all its love, in all its science, in all its glory — is one gigantic test of patience.
Though I was close to that edge, I’m not ready to call it quits just yet. I’ll continue on — one day at a time — and go through whatever tests and procedures and delays are thrown my way. So much of this journey is out of my hands. And I have to be okay with that.
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Read more of Aela’s writing at Two Moms Make A Right.