When you don’t hear from your doctor you start thinking about the worst case scenarios. The eggs fell apart. We need to do this again. But then the doctor calls and really tells you what you never, ever want to hear: you could go through this again, but I would start thinking of Plan B — either egg donation or adoption. I appreciate that my doctor is to the point and focused on success (success meaning we expand our family), but seriously?! This is what she’s thinking?? You might as well slap me, maybe shoot me, and otherwise tell me I’m a failure. Awful. Terrible. Worst thing to ever hear. Ok, not as bad as my mom’s death, but this ranks a very close second. So I cried. And then I got a hold of myself.
Things could be worse. I did not get news that I am terminally ill. Neither did my husband or best friend or dad or brother or others that I love. As my BFF reminded me: miracles happen. As another friend reminded me: there is more than one way to become a parent. And, this process might not be over …. there are two embryos fighting the good fight in the lab. Yes, two! They are beating the odds and we’ll know more tomorrow, but we’re hoping those little suckers are fighters, just like me. They are long distance athletes: like me they get stronger the longer the race goes on.
Here’s to the two little ones in the lab. Here’s a big F-U to the world (momentarily). And here’s to getting a grip on this and conquering it. Like I said in my first post … put me on the starting line and I know I will finish. I may stumble and cry and take a few hits to my confidence, but by god I will finish!