The final plan is that if the hospital cancels me again next month, to go to private in November. (November is when we think we’ll have money, and Novemeber is what they suggested. Very cool.)
When I began assessing myself, the gynae called me to see her to collect the results of tests I’d asked her for. Sitting down with her, listening to her describe my FSH and AMH was ok. She was so hopeful and even said that she’d see me in October for a 6 week scan. (Yeah, she thought the hospital would stick to plan.) But I do admit that when I went and researched online, her hopeful words seemed TOO hopeful.
I sent my results (including the improved ones) to the private clinic and received a response this week. I have many reasons why I think the impact of reading the same prognosis affected me differently. This time, I’ve been waiting and waiting, and feel very uncared for by our hospital (which increases my feelings of fragility and vulnerability. Actually, scratch that. We ARE uncared for. To tell someone to come in post op if there are any problems, they tell you there are issues and you ignore them when they do come in… That IS being uncared for. And at such an emotional time as this!) And before, I assumed that we’d be treated at the time stated. Now I am not even sure of next month. And for Paranoid Me, this is NOT good.
So, when the private clinic’s very lovely-sounding IVF coordinator commented on how bad my FSH and AMH are, it stung. I felt bad that we’d been made to wait so long when things can only get even worse with time, I felt sad that my body is letting me down and acting like that of someone ten years older than me, and for the first time, I actually felt scared that we’d end up with a cancelled cycle. I’ve read about it. I’ve commented on a recent blog that I would rather go through and fail after transfer than to fail at even making an egg or two..but imagining it and seeing how big a possibility it actually is, made it worse.
I just want a baby. A living, breathing baby who I do not need to tell an adoption story to. (Obviously I don’t regret adopting, but one child has a present and loving birth mom, and one doesn’t. The latter causes me much pain.) I want to feel every awful twinge of morning (all day) sickness and unapologetically complain about how sick I am feeling. I want to eventually watch the bump (and my fattening cheeks) grow. Hey, I have Xhosa blood in these mixed heritage veins, of course I’m going to get fat, he he he 😉
I want it. And for the first time since April, I feel like my chances are indeed lower than I thought. If ‘normal’ women make such a few eggs at our hospital, what hope is there for me with so much against me? (For those who don’t know, our hospital uses minimal stimulation, which is generally what is chosen by many specialists for people like me for whom ‘blasting’ with hormones won’t make a difference in number anyway and might only make quality even worse. In fact, the coordinator (with the doctor copied in) at the private clinic said we’d probably use mini IVF for me given my terrible state. Ok,she didn’t say the last part in THOSE words.
Hopefully a month till we find out if I’m wasting my time being hopeful- if I can get my body to work right.