I haven’t said anything in a while. I’m here. Just menstruating. Got some feedback re: the last cycle (the one where the clinic wouldn’t go ahead with an IUI procedure (refused) because I was ‘too fertile.’ I had three big, juicy follicles. I know, some of you are thinking, ‘shut up!’ it’s a great problem to have, but the needles, and the time and the hopes and the aging, and the constant revolving door of feelings… I feel like the entire summer was a write off. I feel the sand draining through that narrow hour glass, like the sands of my uterus, slowly pouring out of me as I become decrepit.
I keep hearing that number: 35. The tipping point. Fuck, it’s depressing. I don’t feel old. I don’t think I look old. I feel like my ovaries are still kicking up their heels, putting on a party dress and making eyes at strangers in bars. I was looking at Jason Mamoa’s feed on Instagram today and felt for sure like I could have a baby.
Does anyone else waver between extreme confidence and crippling self-doubt from moment to moment? I’m managing that by staying very busy.
Early Monday morning, before being almost late for work, I was at the clinic and found out from the doctor that, in addition to 3 over-eager, tarted-up follicles that looked way too desperate to take into a procedure room (triplets anyone?!) my estrogen was at 4000. That was the real concern. No wonder I’ve been a basketcase.
I’m keeping it all in, but like Ani Difranco says (I can’t help the nod to my tween lesbian days), “Every pop song on the radio, is suddenly speaking to me.”
And every person I pass is pregnant, or has a parade of ducklings behind them. Or those damn ‘First Day Back to School’ chalkboards all over their social media. And I work in a high school (which you would think might have the opposite effect on me and cause me to reconsider….), but they are the loveliest, most adorable people and I feel pretty confident that we’d raise a good one. When I’m looking out at my motley bunch of charming, smart-alecky, naive, strange and clever students, I think: this is why we (and YOU, you amazing internet community of brilliant, passionate queer folks who will make the best, most sincere and fierce parents) need to have kids. We will be filling the ranks of future classrooms with kids who are wanted, beloved, with a sense of self, of advocacy, of dignity and who will be the kind of humans we will be so proud to have helped get there. We can’t give up. It will happen.
Rambling. Restless. I am sitting on the couch, being stared at by my cat. Drinking scotch (cause I can). Thinking about this, reading your stories, trying to be more ray of sunshine and less doom and gloom; trying to think of the up sides.
It was tough luck to get told I couldn’t go ahead with IUI try number 2 (for me). *For new friends to AsquaredMamasquared, my wife and I tried for 3 years, with her as the carrier. So now we are hoping that, having scaled back my medication to half the dose they gave me last cycle, two things will happen:
- I will have the right number and size of follicles to put me squarely in the middle of the ‘go ahead, runway is clear, let’s land this thing’ territory
- My wife will not have to deal with quite the same experience as last time (from me, hormonally)