Time to Tell

I think we’re going to have to start telling people about what’s going on.

You all know that even though I’ve been tempted to tell before, I’ve never been a big fan of this idea.  I don’t like people feeling sorry for me, I don’t want to have to answer questions when I’m not in the mood for it, and I don’t want people talking behind my back.

I always figured that if we could make it through the holidays without telling, we’d be home free.  I mean, every weekend over the holidays is packed with get-togethers, there’s always alcohol around, and you’re running into lots of nosy people you don’t normally see.  Seems ripe for some secret-spilling.  Meanwhile, February/March is an easy time to hide out: there are no major holidays, everyone stays in because the weather is gross, and you can say “I gave up drinking for Lent” (an excuse I’ve already used).  Should be easy to keep a secret.

So why am I feeling more pressure to tell now, in February, than I ever did in December?  Two words: summer plans.

I didn’t factor in the fact that in December, everyone else is so busy they don’t notice you.  You can’t come to their party?  You’re probably at another one.  You don’t have a drink?  Who cares, I’m opening presents.  In FEBRUARY though, everyone is bored and starts making plans for the summer.  And it’s hard to be noncommittal about plans that are being four months in advance.  What, you have something else already planned for June 22? 

It all started with an invitation from my friend Andi to join her at an amazing three-day music festival a couple hours from home.  I’ve never done the whole camp-at-a-concert thing before, so my first reaction was to say that yes, I definitely wanted to go.  And then, the tickets went on sale and it was time to either buy them or not.  When faced with the actual decision, I realized that at the time of the concert (late June) I’ll probably be in one of four states:

  

1. If I end up somehow managing to do a fresh transfer this time, and it works, I’ll be about 15 weeks pregnant.  Assuming everything is healthy and normal, that’s actually perfect – I’ll be past morning sickness and showing just enough to look cute in a sundress.  I could totally do a camping concert 15 weeks pregnant.

2. If we stick to the retrieval-freeze-surgery-FET plan, and it works, I’ll be 6-ish weeks pregnant.  From what I know of morning sickness, 6 weeks is not the time to camp out in the heat with a bunch of smelly hippies.  I could not do a camping concert at 6 weeks pregnant.

3. If I don’t get pregnant or timing works out differently than expect, I could be in the middle of some kind of cycle.  I postponed this cycle because of plans, but I’m getting antsy so that’s probably not going to happen again. I would not choose a concert over being available for monitoring, retrievals, transfers, etc, so if I’m in the middle of a cycle, I wouldn’t be able to go.

4. I could be not pregnant, and in the down time between cycles.  In this case I could go, but I probably won’t be very happy about it.

Since I need to keep my schedule open in the likely instance of case number 2 or 3, I had to tell Andi that I didn’t know for sure that I’d be able to go and I’d get my tickets later if they were still available.  Thankfully, Andi knew other people going and didn’t ask why, so that problem was solved (for now).  But that’s how everything is going to be until I get pregnant and have a clear idea of my timeline, and I’m tired of it.  I’m tired of seeming flakey for always leaving myself a loophole.  I’m tired of feeling like a bad friend who doesn’t want to make plans with anyone.  And I’m tired of feeling like my friendships aren’t as close because no one knows what’s really going on in my life.  At this point, I feel like all of this is stressing me out more than people knowing would.

So while we’re still not going to make any announcements, I’m giving myself (and Henry) permission to tell.  Next time I feel the urge to say something, I’m going to give into it. I’m not exactly how that will work (“I’m sorry I can’t commit to your beach weekend, but I need to be available for a transvaginal ultrasound”?), but I’ll figure it out.

Awesome GYN Visit (Part 2)

So now that you know all the history behind how I ended up in my particular OB/GYN’s office last Friday, I can finally tell you why the visit was so wonderful.

It didn’t start off too auspiciously.  While waiting in the exam room, I was psyching myself up to tell the doctor everything.  I wanted her to be up to date, especially since if I get the surgery she will be the one doing it.  I was also determined to, for once, not cry while discussing this infertility madness. I had met this doctor exactly once before and cried then, so I really wanted to keep my composure this time. “NO CRYING!!!!!” I was telling myself as she opened the door.

And then she walked in, and she is about 6 months pregnant.  God-fucking-dammit, I wasn’t emotionally prepared for THAT.  She said something normal like, “So last time I saw you, you were here for a pregnancy consult… not pregnant yet?” and I burst into tears. So much for not crying.

But after a minute or five I managed to get myself under control and tell her the whole story, up to and including the part where I might need her to remove one of my tubes.  She was really understanding and even offered to tentatively schedule the surgery for soon after my cycle so that I can waste as little time as possible (when I talked to her scheduler this ended up not really working out for complicated reasons on my end, but it was nice that she offered). I started to feel more positive.

And then, as our conversation was winding down and the exam was starting, she casually said, “When I had my IVF blah blah blah,” and my heart stopped with a little record screeching sound.  I mean, I knew from our first meeting that she had fertility issues, but IVF? She understands!  She used my doctor!!  And obviously it worked!!!!

I told her I didn’t realize she had IVF, and then for the next few minutes we weren’t doctor and patient, but girlfriends (at one point, while she had her finger up my vagina, very good girlfriends) chatting about how awful HSGs are, how easy the shots are, and how a frozen cycle compares to a fresh one.  For those few minutes I was SO HAPPY and felt about 500 pounds lighter.

[Aside: Can we all take a second to acknowledge how hard it must have been for her to be a FREAKING OB/GYN while she couldn’t get pregnant?  That’s on a whole other level than my Facebook complaints; I cringe just thinking about it.]

[Another aside: I’m pretty sure that this experience has proven to me that, somehow, I need to meet someone who either is going through this or has gone through it and at least have coffee with them.  Talking to her for those few minutes as if IVF were the most normal thing in the world did at least as much good for my emotional state as my counselor appointment earlier in the week.]

And then, as the visit was ending, I took a big chance: I asked her what she would do if she were me.  “What would you do if you were me?” is both the question I most want someone to answer and the one that’s hardest to get answered.  My doctor and nurse sidestep it whenever I ask, and no one else in my life (that I know of) knows anything about IVF other than what they’ve learned through me.  All I want is someone knowledgeable to give me some guidance, someone who has been through it to tell me I’m doing things right, someone who knows what it’s like to sympathize with my position. I held my breath waiting for her to answer.

“Well, it’s hard………” she said, and my heart sank. We were back to doctor-patient mode, and I was sure she wasn’t going to give me a firm answer because there is no right answer. “…. but I’d probably get the tube out, just to be sure it’s not causing a problem.”

Told you it was an awesome visit.

Awesome GYN Visit (Part 1)

I have to tell you guys about the awesome visit to the gynecologist I had last week.  (And yes, I am well aware that this might be the first time in history that the phrase “awesome visit to the gynecologist” has ever been used.)  But I’m going to tell you about it tomorrow, because first there’s a lot of background to get through.

See, to fully understand the awesomeness of this visit and how everything came together just right to make it happen, we have to go back in time to when I was 22, fresh out of college, and children were far from my mind.  I was looking for a gynecologist near me who would take my insurance, so I went to the Blue Cross website and picked someone at random.  It turned out that her office was nice, her nurses were friendly, and best of all, I liked her – she was unflappable, a little bit mannish, and of an indeterminate age that made her seem experienced without seeming old.  I stayed with her through several insurance changes and even came back to her during breaks from grad school.

But, like so many relationships, this one soured.  It happened, ironically, when I was recommending her to a friend who asked if I liked my gynecologist.  I Googled my doctor’s name so that I could send along a link, and there the paragraph was: “Dr. Roenneburg specializes in the treatment of urinary incontinence in women of all ages, as well as pelvic prolapse, pelvic reconstruction, fecal incontinence, and the special gynecologic needs of senior and handicapped women.”  And, since at that point Henry and I were starting to seriously discuss kids, something else stood out: nowhere on the page did it list her as an obstetrician.

It was like a scene from a movie – suddenly I realized that I was always the youngest person in the waiting room.  Suddenly I realized that my doctor always seemed happy to see me and my uncomplicated gynecological issues.  Suddenly I realized that I never saw any pregnant women in the office. 

Needless to say, I felt very awkward and self-conscious about the fact that I had been going to a doctor for incontinent old ladies for years.  But I still liked her, and I tend to feel irrationally loyal to people I like, so rather than just finding someone new I tried to gently bring it up at my next appointment.  “So, we’re thinking about getting pregnant soon. Should I start seeing an OB and is there anyone you would recommend?”  But my attempt at a break-up was thwarted when she assured me that she could do the pregnancy test in her office and then send me over to an OB.  Dammit.  As I left her office, I defeatedly made the appointment for my annual visit a year later.

In the meantime, though, I had done some Googling and found my dream OB/GYN office.  It was an all-woman practice, they had an office near my office, and they did their deliveries at the hospital near my house.  They seemed young and friendly.  At one point I even bravely made an appointment with them, but something came up and I had to cancel and never rescheduled.

So that pretty much brings us to when I was starting to worry about the fact that Henry and I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet.  I decided to call my doctor and see if I could move my annual visit up a month or two so that we could run the first round of tests asap.  When I called, however, I learned that my doctor had left the practice. I could switch guilt-free!  I quickly called my dream office to get an appointment.  They made a “pregnancy consult” appointment for me right away with one of their doctors, and I felt good about it.

When I went in about a month later, I loved the doctor – she was cute and energetic and positive even in the face of my tears.  But rather than ordering tests, she gave me a referral to the doctor who is now my RE, explaining that he could do more than she could.  “He helped me get pregnant,” she said.  So I left, a little bit frustrated that I had just spent $30 to be told it sounded like I was ovulating just fine, but at least with the name of her trusted RE in my hand.  I made an appointment for my annual visit with the same doctor, and that’s the appointment that I had last week.

I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.