The baby plight

Alright kiddies, grab a chair, or a cushion and make yourselves comfortable. This is another look into the innerness of Melanie post. It isn’t pretty, it is rarely funny, it makes me sad, but it is me. If you don’t have the balls for it, I won’t think less of you. Just go check out e-bay or Playboy, or Cosmo if you are looking for that warm fuzzy feeling. You aren’t going to get it here. This may ramble, but a bottle of Pinot Grigio will tend to do that to you. OK, here we go.

Since I was about 12 (actually younger I think) I knew I wanted to be a Mom. I remember sitting on the front porch at my Parent’s house when I was about 17 and they wanted to discuss college, etc. My eyes filled with tears. I tried to explain to them that I didn’t want to go to college. I wanted to get married and have children. I looked at my Mom and said “I want to be a Mom, like you.” I believe she may have teared up as well. In any case, they made me go to college and it sucked and that is another blog. Do not misunderstand, I am smart and looking back I realize that I could have done so much more with my life had I finished college, but I also realize that I wouldn’t have the husband, step-children and friends that I have now which mean everything to me. Anywhoooooo……

I met my husband in (I think) 1992 or 1993. I was 22, he was 34. I fell in love with him. Our “dating story” would also make an interesting blog. So, we fell in love, blah blah blah. He told me pretty quickly that he had two children. He told me a bit less quickly that he had a vasectomy figuring that the first marriage would last forever, as they are supposed to, and they had all the children they wanted. I expressed to him that having children was not something I was willing to not do. He pondered this for a few weeks and then agreed that we would try to have children, once we were married and the stars aligned, etc.

We got married in 1995. I believe we may have waited one or two years to start trying to get pregnant. Dave wasn’t really into it as he was just going along with the plan to make me happy (hey, don’t fault him at least he was willing to try), so I did all of the research. I found an infertility doctor for us to go see. He was a dick (the doctor, not Dave – although Dave can totally be a dick). I didn’t care. I thought he would be the doctor to complete my life’s dreams. I thought I would be pregnant in no time and we would be on our way to a little family all our own. Cut to reality. I didn’t get pregnant. We tried artificial insemination about 5 or 6 times each time costing over $750 (none covered by insurance of course). Dave was definitely getting frustrated as he hated this doc. I wasn’t fond of him myself. He would tell us that he wanted me to undergo testing that would be over $1,000 out of pocket and would get pissed when I told him my regular doc would do it and insurance would cover it.

I then accepted a job with the hospital I am with now. Infertility was covered!!!!! We did artificial insemination that first year about 4 times and it cost only a $10 co-pay each time. Of course we all know that that was too good to last. Yeah, the coverage has progressively gone to shit, which is a technical insurance term. Whatever, we kept trying.

Now you might be thinking, well obviously this girl can’t get pregnant. The thing is, the great big kick you in the ass and make you say huh thing is, there is NOTHING wrong with me. They have done every horrible, painful and intrusive test they could think of. I am perfect, well, at least my ovaries and uterus are. There was minor endometriosis, which I had surgery to remove. Other than that, I’m just fine. It appears that a greater force is trying to tell us something?

Fast forward to last October. My doctor finally decided it was time to step up our attempts. Mind you, before this we were doing infertility drugs. I became quite the expert at giving myself shots. Yep, everyday for two weeks I had to give myself a shot. It was painful and sucked and I put on weight because you aren’t allowed to move let alone do anything, but my God I was ok with it if it would produce a child for us to love and adore. Yeah, that didn’t work out so much.

The next step was/is in vitro. More invasive. Double the shots. Dave has to have surgery also. The egg and sperm will get to meet outside the body instead of in my warm cozy insides, but it has a good chance of working. Good meaning about 30%. (at this point in the story I would like to take a mini break to express my disgust that druggie street people, and generally horrid people get preggers all the time, but NOT ME!)

As you all know, we are getting ready to move soon. We are also going to be giving the aforementioned in vitro a go. Keep your fingers crossed that we will have a new baby in the new house!

Of course I haven’t even touched on all of my many emotions during this process as this post would then become about 4 million pages to read. Suffice to say that we have had a few close calls where I thought I was pregnant, and it was devastating, absolutely devastating, to find out that I wasn’t (twice I was so late I actually took a pregnancy test). I have felt anger and self-pity, both of which I despise. And through it all I must remind myself that this could all be in vain. Perhaps I am not meant to be a Mom. Perhaps I meant to put little band aids on my nieces (and soon to be grandchild) and never get to kiss my own child’s boo boo better. This makes me incredibly sad. It brings me to tears every time I think that maybe I should just give it up and be the best Aunt and (34 year old) Grandma that I can be. But I can’t. I can’t give up yet. I was meant to be a Mom. The 12 year old inside me keeps screaming out that we can’t give up. Not yet. Not while I still have eggs in me.

I have left out details I’m sure. Deal with it, I have.