Our appointment at the fertility clinic was yesterday. We never expected IVF to be offered as a first treatment – they briefly explained all the options, and because we’ve never discussed IVF we went ahead with a more in-depth look at stimulated cycle IUI. I will write technical explanations when I don’t feel so fucked up.
At any rate, I think we are seriously considering IVF. If I am willing to donate half my eggs, I get the treatment at a hugely reduced cost – and the success rates are five times that of a natural cycle IUI. This makes IVF both more affordable and much more attractive as far as outcomes go.
I’m just overwhelmed by the idea of daily injections, suppositories, little egg-babies in a petri dish who don’t survive, little egg-babies in my womb who don’t burrow right into my uterine lining. I am in excellent health. I am not an infertile woman. All of my scans have been excellent, my hormone levels are kickin’, and there is always a chance I could conceive without going through IVF. But we only have enough money for three attempts.
IVF success rate at this clinic is 50-55%, and the consultant said because I’m so young it would be nearer to the 55% mark. I also have no reason to believe that I couldn’t support a pregnancy, as I am fertile – unlike many women who go through IVF.
Egg sharing means more tests to make sure I’m not carrying a freaky disease, which pushes the timeline back. I don’t think I mind.
Yesterday I felt so overwhelmed that when we left the clinic I started crying on the street and told TMD I don’t want to do this anymore – I just want to adopt.
I don’t know what the point of this entry is….venting, I suppose. Offloading. The sorts of things I would be saying to Kleinette if I was sitting on her couch. I don’t want to have to be logical. Logic tells me that we should definitely do IVF – and I am happy with that choice. Despite that, I still feel scared, upset, and confused.
All I/we wanted was a baby. I never thought when I was growing up that it would be this fucking involved. Babymaking is, inherantly, supposed to be an intimate act that brings pleasure. I suppose I am mourning the fact that TMD and I have to do it differently.
I just wish I could know it would work.
OH. I’ll tell you one more thing, though. Nichiren Buddhism talks about something called sancho shima. I won’t pretend to be incredibly philosophical, but merely say that this means that when you are about to make a very strong step in life, life invariably throws up obstacles. Getting to the clinic yesterday was unbelieveable. We almost missed the fucking appointment, perhaps more details later.
Anyway, I was chanting in my head – the first chanting I’ve done in ages – to arrive by 12. When we finally made it into the city and got on public transport, guess who sat down across from us? A woman reading a book about Nichiren Buddhism – which has NEVER happened before.
Perhaps this is me striving to make coincidence meaningful, but it felt pretty fucking profound, I can tell you. We also made it to the clinic exactly at 12.