I think we told almost all of our close friends about our most recent FET, as well as the rest of our sorted reproductive past. It was touching to see how many infertility novices quickly learned the drill of beta doubling times and it was interesting to note that many seemed more anxious about receiving my numbers than I was. For record, my RE had me do a third draw, which came back at 2136. "I know you've probably already done this," said New Girl "I looked back at your prior betas and these are way higher." I knew they were, but I didn't make any direct comparisons, as there are so many differences between this FET and my first fresh transfer. I held this unusual sense of confidence as I casually waited for my results. After receiving the first and most critical one, I just knew that my betas would rise accordingly. Wow. I thought on a few occasions, this must be what it feels like for normal women... Then I remembered that most normal fertile women don't go through beta testing. I had to explain to Myrtle what it meant to have a beta of 175. I am not kidding.
Of all the money we have spent on this procreation pursuit, and it has been a lot, the $1875 for CCS testing has been worth every penny and more. Yet, it doesn't offer any guarantees. It only means that if my heart is broken with another miscarriage, a chromosomal abnormality will not be the cause. I keep reminding myself that my embryo is not infallible. My RE recently mentioned that he has been seeing more miscarriages in women over 40 who are found to have normal chromosomes on their pathology reports. "You're not over 40" Husband countered. True, but I'm not that far away. I had two patients of my own, both are in their early 30s, whose POC analysis did not implicate a chromosomal abnormality. One was found to have a large uterine fibroid and the other was found to have the triad of a high FSH, low AMH and low AFC, leading to the craptastic DOR diagnosis. Embryos can still be shitty even if they're genetically normal.
I'm in the ignorance is bliss phase. While I was a University student, I attended a lecture by a psychology PhD candidate whose research observed that people cannot disregard information presented to them, particularly if it is very emotional in nature. Well, I seem to be proving her wrong, as I often forget that I am pregnant. For three years, I've become obsessed with pregnancy and now it's expunged from my mind? I don't know how many weeks and days I am. I refuse to calculate a potential due date. I saw a pregnant woman in Tar.get and instantly filled with disdain, until the little voice reminded me, oh yeah... I'm technically pregnant too...
Myrtle, who apparently is an expert in obstetrics after her textbook perfect pregnancy, had some advice for me, "just cuddle with your kitties or think of Angus if you feel anxious..." Thanks, but I don't actually don't feel anxious. I know whatever will be, will be. The die has already been cast. Nothing I can do can influence this outcome, and as mind blowingly frustrating as that is, there is really no point in stressing over it. I'm not even meticulously inspecting the toilet tissue. I tried to find an explanation that Myrtle might understand. "Imaging as a child, you really wanted a certain toy for Christmas. It was the last gift you opened and you were absolutely elated as soon as you tore off the paper. But then you were told that you couldn't play with it. You couldn't look at it; actually, you weren't allowed to even think about it."
Maybe that analogy hit a little close to home for me. If I receive a gift from an out of state relative, my mother would hold it hostage on top of our refrigerator until I wrote a thank you note. To this day, that discipline has stayed with me, with the one exception that I once needed to cash my grandmother's ten dollar cheque in order to buy a card and stamp for my thank you note. Maybe it's why I have managed to keep thoughts about this pregnancy out of sight and out of mind. "So, are we ever going to be able to enjoy this pregnancy?" asked Husband with words that stabbed me right in the gut. "Hopefully..." was all I could answer.
This past weekend I ran into an old friend at the Farmer's Market. After we chatted for a few minutes, she cut right to the chase, "so, any news?" I immediately felt shitty as I forgot that she was in the loop and I realised that I didn't tell her earlier. "Oh, I'm pregnant again." I informed, suddenly acknowledging that it was the first time I said 'I'm [the p-word]' out loud, and I sounded like an asshole. I'm sure to anyone who overheard our conversation, I came across as one of those super fertile women, we were just talking about if we wanted to have a third baby, and I realised my period was late, so I took a test and it was positive! It's so easy for us, all we have to do is talk about getting pregnant and I'm knocked up! "Three pregnancies, nothing yet to show for it." I quickly added for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. No one looked up from selecting their desired produce. They were calmly carrying on with their day, and I should too.