About two weeks ago I got a special package in the mail:
We started meds...we? Me. Me stared meds. He shoots me. It feels much less intense this time around because we are distracted and trying to do a fast progesterone shot while Momo eats a bowl of cereal, so we've lost a lot of the ritual and drama. Maybe that's a good thing. It's been about four years now since I did all of this. The calendar. The monitoring appointments. The drive to the clinic out here and dripping sweaty armpits when I park the car-- it's amazing how the body holds on to sense memory. Parking spot = armpit sweat. I was always nervous when I'd go to the RE. The last few times it's been like visiting an old friend. My doctor looked tired on Friday when I went in. We hugged and I asked him why he looks so tired. He told me about his kids soccer tournaments and his busy schedule and then he checked out my uterus. All looked good. We are a go for Seattle. Remember Momo is from Seattle. There were two embryos in her donated batch and we are going back for the second one. The Seattle clinic has been amazing and I'm actually excited to see our doctor there and revisit the place where Momo hung out for four plus cold years.
It's been interesting to notice where my brain goes when I think about this transfer. For the most part I feel pretty relaxed and at peace with whatever happens, but when I think about the fact this is essentially our last shot, our only chance at a full genetic sibling for Momo, and quite possibly the last time we engage in assisted baby making, my brain suddenly goes: Oh shit. Why haven't I worked out more? I was in such better shape for Momo, do I not care as much? Why is it so hard to stop drinking coffee, I'm so selfish. What if the embryo doesn't thaw? What are the odds all three embryos that were created are going to be good and result in babies? I eat too much dairy. I should have stopped eating so much dairy. Why does it matter if I eat dairy? I hate myself. I love dairy. Estrogen shots and pills = narcolepsy. I'm so tired. There's no way this is going to work if I'm so tired. Fuck it. People on crack get pregnant, so I'm out of shape and eat too much string cheese. I haven't done yoga in a long time. I should have done more yoga...
You see where I'm going right? In chaos circles where my faulty logic has decided if it doesn't work it is some how my fault for not doing yoga and eating string cheese, but if it does work then it's because it's a good embryo. I could have done more perhaps, but some times you just have to pull the trigger. It's time. We've been trying for a while to get this boat sailing and the fact that we feel emotionally ready is going to have to carry us. Whatever happens happens. I've decided to let the insanity run one last lap through my mind and then I put my foot down. I'm doing the best I can and what that looks like at this stage of my life is a little different than what it looked liked four years ago. I know the odds of this working, I know the chance it won't thaw etc etc and I'm not going to think about it because what's the point. I always ask myself how does what I'm doing or thinking serve me? In my mind, we're going to get our other baby. He or she has been waiting a long time and my assumption is it's going to work and if it doesn't we will deal with that on the back end. For now we have to pack. I need to be shot in the butt...like right now...and I have to have one last delicious cup of coffee because come Friday we're done with caffeine because baby #2 goes in at 2:30pm. I'll get knocked up by a sweet lady in a white coat the way I always dreamed, and all will be awesome.
Cross your fingers for us!