I've written many posts addressing my frustrations with my friend Myrtle and her lack of understanding toward our infertility, but I found it really hard to process her reaction when I told her about my second miscarriage. She seemed to treat it as if I told her that I lost my iPhone and merely wanted to know how much time I had left on my contract. Husband thought it might be better if he were the one to try to educate her, as a fellow lay person. Apparently, I use too many technical terms...He texted Myrtle to arrange to get together during his trip east. "Is it okay that Husband meets little Myrtle before you do?" Myrtle wrote me seeking my approval. I reminded her that we both met her last year as I rolled my eyes. Sheesh, does little Myrtle have her own booking agent? Husband debriefed me after he had brunch with Myrtle and her husband. "They really don't know anything..." He had to explain the process of IVF in detail multiple times and it seems that the only thing they learned is how lucky they were that everything worked on their first shot. I spoke with Myrtle later that afternoon, but she didn't seem too much wiser. As little Myrtle was crying in the background, she asked "are you sure you want one of these?"
Ordinarily, such a comment would prompt a post about Myrtle's insensitivity, but this time it struck a nerve as I've been having similar thoughts myself. A few days earlier I had dropped Husband off at the airport. The next night I went to went to play tennis after work and came home late. The following morning I ran a 10 K and met up with some swimming friends for breakfast after the race. After doing a few errands, I returned home in the early afternoon and felt like taking a nap. Why not? I didn't have any responsibilities to anyone. As I stretched out of the sofa to indulge in mid-day slumber, I felt reminded that I wouldn't have so much free will with my time if we had a baby. Furthermore, shouldn't I be doing something more substantial with my time than napping?
Every now and then I'll encounter a patient in her late 30s or early 40s who presents to talk about infertility. Sometimes I suspect they're hoping I have an easy answer, rather than hearing it's now or never and the best option is to consult an REI. Some patients decline a referral. I can appreciate their reluctance. One of our medical assistants described that she thinks some couples can reach a point of no return. After waiting so long for a baby, they discover that they feel quite content with their current lifestyle and decide not to disturb the homeostasis. The thought of night time feedings and Saturday morning soccer practices seems overwhelming, while quality sleep and wine tasting trips sounds more tempting. They missed the window of ideal opportunity. Veronica went through this personally. She and her husband tried to conceive for many years, and when she failed to ovulate with Clomid, she declined to seek any further infertility treatments. A year later she came to me for an IUD insertion, noting that she would now be pissed if she were to become pregnant.
A week or so ago, Husband and I went out with some friends. Once a year, my friend H arranges for our group to go to a club in the city that features mashups. Yes, when a DJ combines two (or more) songs into one. It sounds rather lame, but is actually pretty cool. Boston and The Black Eyed Peas becomes "I've Got More than a Feeling." Snow Patrol and The Backstreet Boys yields "Chasing Cars That Way." We arrived just before the bouncer started imposing a cover charge. I recognise that for people 35 and older, getting to the club early is what going to the early bird special at the diner is to senior citizens. You and your friends own the dance floor, and you can just walk up to the bartender when you want another drink. Heck, at this point in the evening, we weren't even the oldest ones in attendance. Yet as the night creeps on, it unfolds like a reverse Cinderella story. More and more people file in and the average age drops rapidly. It gets harder to move; the dance floor becomes a mob scene. Ordering a drink takes at least a half an hour, and you just hope you don't need to use the bathroom. Oh, and to complete our status as crotchety old critics; we were disappointed as the evening was billed as 80s versus 90s, which would lead one to believe a mashup would feature a song from the 80s and one from the 90s. Not every third or forth compilation has at least an 80s or 90s song... Although the music of Miley Cyrus does blend with quite a lot...Confession time: I added 'Party in the USA' onto my running playlist...
When we first walked in, I took note of the 'you must have been born before this date in 1993 to enter' sign. Wow. I am biologically capable of being the mother to the youngest person in the room. Albeit, I would have been an episode of '16 and pregnant'. Still, that thought stuck with me as I saw all these young twenty somethings running around, I'm old enough to be your mother... The thought resonated further, I'm going to be an old mother (if it happens). I'll be in my 50s during the teenage years, and if he or she gets married after the age of 30, I could be 70 at the wedding. When I was in my earlier 30s, I would see first time pregnant patients at the age of 38 or 39 and thought, I'd never be having a baby at that age... This is why I had it all carefully planned out; start trying to conceive at age 35 and if it didn't happen after 2-3 years, then it just wasn't meant to be. After all, I'll never do IVF. Yet sometimes when you start down the TTC road, there seems to be another point of no return. The heart has grasped so firmly to this abstract concept that it's hard to let go.
Like Cinderella, when the clock struck midnight I was ready to go home. Dance clubs weren't really my scene in my twenties, so it felt more awkward to be at one in my (late) thirties. The proximity to so much youth made me feel so much older than I actually am. There was one bright spot to the night. As I was dancing with H and the girls, Husband and his friend were standing in the corner, scoping out the talent. "Ooh, look at her ass!"Husband pointed to his friend. The rear end in question belonged to yours truly. At least I've still got it to the guy who wants it. Get your coat Love, you've pulled.