It's Party Time, Excellent!

Take my word for it: You haven't truly lived until you've seen the inside of your uterus on a 50-inch HD monitor. Now, to be completely honest, I've seen it before. Last IVF cycle. Same story, different year. I've even seen my vagina in a mirror as my son's head crowned in the delivery room. Very cool and very bizarre. But this was different. This was like one of those cartoons where the fish gets swallowed by the whale and disappears down the whale's throat. The camera entered my uterus. In real time. As I watched on the monitor. My uterus. Coming directly at me. My first thought was of the Wayne's World gag where Wayne and Garth scream, "Extreme close-up!" and the camera zooms in on their terrified faces. I almost laughed. What else was I supposed to do?

Today was hysteroscopy day. For those of you blessed to have never gone through such a procedure, a hysteroscopy basically entails an examination of my uterus and a biopsy of the uterine lining. The whole thing takes a total of 5 minutes. But between the cold water and the "snip-snip" of the surgical blade, it's anything but pleasant. Perhaps that has something to do with the receptionist asking me, "Do you have a living will?" as part of her pre-operative questionnaire. If this had been my first time in a surgical setting, I would've shit a brick. Nice bedside manner, lady. Bitch probably has four kids at home.

The surgical center was like Grand Central Station for reproductive endocrinology. The women were literally lined up, side by side, in the curtained stalls waiting for Dr. Barmat to sneak a peek. It was sad and oddly comforting at the same time. Solidarity. All of us women, united in the same desire: to have a baby. All of us willing to endure such invasive prodding and poking, clinging to the hope that we would have our prayers answered. That someday we would look back on October 13th as just another step in the journey to contentment.

But, of course, I was not like these other women. I defined myself not as a woman trying to have a baby, but as a mother trying to add to her family. One oblivious nurse, upon hearing that I already had a 3-year-old son, remarked, "So you're trying for a sister?" No, genius, I'm trying for a healthy child. It can be any gender it wants to be. As I told one of the nurses about Daniel, I felt self-conscious. The other patients were within earshot. How would I feel if I were childless, going through this process? My heart broke for them. I wanted to burst through the curtain and give someone a hug. I thought of Daniel's beautiful face and smiled. My delicious little boy will be waiting for me when I get home today. Guilt. But all the guilt in the world won't make my grief go away. The sadness and loss I've endured on my journey is valid, whether I have a child or not.

After the procedure, I was given a color photograph of the inside of my uterus. Two shots of the openings to my fallopian tubes, and one of the area that was biopsied. A souvenir of this day on which all of my blessings and all of my grief seemed rolled up in a neat little package. I'm going to hold onto that photo. Maybe someday it will be in a baby book.

Full Disclosure

Whomever designed the Price Medical Building at Abington Hospital is a cruel S.O.B. The offices of Abington Reproductive Medicine are on the 4th floor, and somewhere below that is an obstetrics practice. Which means that anytime I have an appointment to see the reproductive endocrinologist or the IVF nurses, I inevitably encounter at least 2 or 3 HUGELY pregnant women. This is a particular kind of torture for anyone who has ever struggled to have a baby. Which brings me back to the reason why I'm writing about this in the first place.

The last year and a half of my life has been a series of losses. Many of you know what I've been through, but some of you do not. My desire to add another child to my family has brought me to this point. I'm about to start an IVF cycle with 2 cryogenically frozen embryos that were retrieved last fall. These 2 blastocysts were put on ice following an unsuccessful IVF cycle almost exactly one year ago. A month after I received the phone call informing me that my pregnancy test was negative, I became pregnant on my own. Fast forward to March 2010. If you don't know how that pregnancy ended, remind me to tell you sometime. I don't think I want that story floating around in cyberspace.

Throughout this journey, I have openly shared my experiences with others. It has been an amazing catharsis for me. So many people came forward with their own stories of miscarriage, infertility, and loss. I began to realize that I wasn't alone (even though sadness is the most isolating emotion on the planet). Which is why I feel compelled to document this experience. Whether you are a family member who has comforted me while I cried, a friend who has supported me in my grief, or an acquaintance who simply wants to decipher all those vague Facebook status updates, I want you to know what this is like for me. Not to gain your sympathy, but your understanding. I need you to understand why it's hard for me to be around pregnant women. Why I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach every time I see a newborn. Why I may congratulate you on your good news but still feel sadness over what I've lost. I hope to convey this story with honesty and humor. I don't know how it will end. But I hope you will stick with me until the final chapter is written.

Today was my appointment for a baseline ultrasound and blood work. This basically involves me, an IVF nurse, and what I once heard described as the "dildo cam." The purpose is to measure my uterus and ovaries on day 2 of my cycle, so they can monitor everything as my cycle progresses and transfer day approaches. Take my word for it -- there's not much you want to do on day 2 of your cycle, but having a date with the dildo cam is pretty much at the VERY bottom of your list. Nevertheless, everything was normal and I was given a basic outline of how this "cryo-cycle" will unfold. On day 21, I will return to Abington for another blood test to determine whether or not I've ovulated. If so, I will start on Lupron injections and Estradiol supplements. More ultrasound monitoring will follow, and the embryo transfer is tentatively scheduled for December 2nd. Happy Hanukkah to me!

I feel cautiously optimistic, which is all I can be right now. I look into the eyes of my amazing, perfect 3-year-old, and I find comfort knowing that I made him. He is healthy. He is wonderful. And he grew inside of ME. Daniel is a shining example of the GOOD in my life. He is my constant reminder that things haven't always ended badly for me.

Thank you for reading this. Now let's get this show on the road.