Parting is such sweet sorrow

I've waited for this day with such anticipation from the very first visit with my RE, after I acknowledged that I wished that never needed to meet him in the first place. My final scan confirmed that our embryo's growth is on track and I heard the words, "you are released to your obstetrician." At last, I am free (or at least I hope). So many times I have throught, I can't wait to be done with this process... I am finished with waiting for AF just so I can coordinate my life around my fertility treatments.  I no longer need to sneak out of the office for monitoring appointments.

Yet, at the same time, I don't feel free. I'll be slipping out of the office next week, this time for my own new OB visit. I had to coordinate my NT scan within the designated window of time. My life will continue to be occupied with multiple appointments leading into my twice weekly NST sessions. Further activity and travel restrictions will encroach. This is all before the baby arrives. I hear they can be quite demanding and rather time consuming.

I acknowledge that it sounds so strange to say that I'll miss some aspects as it seems as if I'm exhibiting Stockholm Syndrome. Last year one of my elderly patients was transitioned to an Alzheimer's Care Facility. I gave her daughter my personal contact information and asked her to notify me when she passes. I saw her once a month for over four years. My only parents and relatives don't see me that much. I saw my RE at least once a month for the past two and a half years. I'll miss discussing interesting cases with him, even if the most challenging one, was my own.

There were things that I wanted to say, but I didn't know how to articulate. I wonder what, if anything, he feels he learned from my case study. Evaluate every possible septum even if it is slight and seeminly insignificant. Discuss CCS testing with more patients? (I once mentioned that REIs should feel obligated to present it as an option to every patient) Considering altering the estrogen priming in a patient with a thicker lining? I spoke the words 'thank you', but they felt so empty and inadequate. Yet, at the same time I don't know quite how to say thank you as I don't yet have the full appreication for the object of my gratitude. Even watching our baby moving on the ultrasound monitor it still seems so abstract. I think I'll fully understand my indebtedness if it ever becomes tangible.

Sometimes it still strikes me that over ten years ago, we lived less than a mile from each other on the other side of the country. We worked at the same hospitals, shopped at the same grocery store and frequented the same establishments. Maybe our paths never crossed during that time, or maybe we intersected as annonymous strangers. It seems to represent so much of infertility. It is such a silent and secreative disease. It does not discern or discriminate. Any man or woman, young or old, rich or poor could be affected and no one else could know. Through blogging and joining the IF community, I have found so much comfort from my followers who know the most intimate detials of my life, and yet, they wouldn't recognise me if we passed on a sidewalk.

He acknowledged that it has been a long jouney and wished us well. He shook my hand for the last time and held it a few extra seconds. I think that is as touchy-feely as he gets.

If we meet again, why, shall we smile?

If not, why, then, this parting was well made.

-William Shakespeare

Julius Caesar, Act V, Scene I