This has not been such a great week
I think a friendship that was important to me really suffered over the whole LLL fiasco and then I got my progesterone test back and the news wasn’t good (we’ll know more about what’s wrong when I get the results from another bunch of blood tests on Monday). I spent the week trying not to be depressed about these two things.
Happily, today finds me in a much better mood. I’ve made overtures toward the friend which is all I can do (and I’m not letting myself obsess about who said what and who meant what, etc.). And I’m still taking the whole fertility thing one step at a time. Right now I’m focusing on diagnosis and I’ll make decisions about treatment later. I know I have limits stating how far I’m willing to go but I’m not quite sure where those limits are.
I feel frustrated by the fact that I can’t afford adoption. I guess that doesn’t really matter since Brett isn’t as open to adoption as I am. Last night he told me that he really wants to have another child and it’s pretty darn important to him that said child be biological. I hope to adopt someday and I think that Brett will come around but probably not soon. I think our finances would need to be much tighter for him to feel good about adoption. Anyway, after this talk I realized that our limits may not be the same when it comes to fertility treatments. On the one hand, this makes me angry because it’s my body that will have to go through all sorts of ridiculous, humiliating, and/or difficult things but on the other hand, it he wants a biological child with me, there’s really no other choice.
I know it may seem early to be talking about specific treatment options but the next step after diagnosis is sitting down with the doc and discussion options and so it’s actually not too early at all. Just part of that whirlwind of reproductive medicine; a whirlwind that I’m not so sure I want to step into.
I may have mentioned here that my sister tried to have a baby for three or four years and went through a bunch of treatment to have my nephew, Frankie. Sometimes I feel rotten that I’m making such a big deal about babymaking when I’ve “only” been trying for 21 months.
Here’s the thing: I’m naturally more aggressive about getting stuff done than my sister usually is. Also, I’m feeling really driven by a gap between siblings that is already way too wide for my tastes. It absolutely slaughters me that Noah will not have a brother or sister before he’s five. It makes me want to scream and slam my fists against walls. Intellectually, I think it’ll all be fine and fabulous, but emotionally I worry that he will never enjoy his sibling, that that will never be close, that so much adult attention has ruined him forever. (This is not helped by my mother sometimes heaving a sad sigh and saying, “Noah *needs* another baby in the house.” It’s a dagger in my heart when she says stuff like that.) My desperation comes from the fear that I’m failing him; it’s not just the thought of holding a wee baby of my own in my arms again.
