When I was a little kid, we had this awesome (at the time) swing set in our backyard. My older sister and I would takes turns seeing if we could manage to push the other one ALL THE WAY AROUND (spoiler alert: we couldn’t). There was one time, where she pushed me SO HIGH that 5 year old me panicked mid-swing and thought it would be a brilliant idea to let go of the swing. I crashed down to the ground on my back. It’s the first time I can clearly remember having the wind knocked out of me. For a good 20 seconds, I didn’t think I would ever breathe again.
That is the only way I’ve found to accurately describe the feeling I got when the reproductive endocrinologist informed my husband and me that we would never be able to conceive a child on our own. The only way it could ever happen is with in vitro fertilization (IVF). I literally felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.
The first words out of my mouth? “Well. Shit.” Clearly, I am a classy lady and have a way with words.
She went on to inform us of the process, and tell us even more about our problem (which I won’t go into here, because really no one cares about the details), and how this was actually a now or never type situation. It may already be too late, quite honestly, but we won’t know until we try. A few more minutes of consultation and she sent us on to have blood drawn and then I got to have a date with a transvaginal ultrasound.
So. Now we wait. Tests have been run. A plan is in place. I’m literally waiting to start my period any day now so that I can start birth control pills to get this IVF ball rolling. It has been suggested that I need an outlet to process this whole thing. All of my closest girlfriends have children (some are on baby #3…) so I don’t know anyone else that’s gone through this, and I have no one to talk to other than my husband. I don’t even care if no one ever reads this. Shit’s hard, yo. I need to let it out. So…here we are.