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.