Because I’m at that weird adult
stage in life, I've come to realize that the holidays can be categorized into
two sections. Either, ‘You love Christmas because you are a child’ or ‘You love
Christmas because you have a child.’ Okay, so I forgot one category. The,
‘You love Christmas because you married a child trapped in a thirty-something’s
body.’ Which is clearly the category I
should be placed in with all the Batman, Yankees, Derek Jeter, and Star Wars
stuff I’ve cyber-shopped for the past few weeks.
Each year I spend growing more
distant from my teenage self, I find it
harder and harder to get into the Christmas spirit. When I've shared that idea
with others, especially older people, I’m told it’s because I’m at the age
where having my own children will start to bring the magic back into the
season. That’s all well and good, but what about the Christmas spirit of a mother
whose eleven children are currently frozen?
*Insert awkward pause**
*Insert awkward pause**
Oh yes. I said eleven. The last time you got an update from me, I just had my eggs
retrieved. All twenty-seven of them! That number trickled down to twenty-one,
after Willy-Wonka-weeding-out the “bad eggs” from the “good eggs”. They were
mixed with Mike’s cleanest, top-notch sperm and we were able to get sixteen
embryos. At the time to freeze, eleven had reached the appropriate maturity
level, so eleven embryos basically got “Hans Solo-ed”. (If you aren't exposed to closet sci-fi geeks on the reg, as I am, then YouTube “Hans Solo Gets Frozen” for a mental picture.)
The embryo transfer will take place
after the first of the year. It’s all about the timing…getting my cycle back on
track after insane hormone fluctuations…getting doctors back on track after
being on Christmas vacation mode. Etc. Etc. I've been asked a hundred times
how I’m going to handle this portion of the process with my blog. If I give you
a date, you’ll know two weeks later that
I’ll know whether it worked or not.
This isn’t a normal pregnancy announcement…most people don’t say, “OKAY! Well,
we are going to go fertilize my eggs tonight! Check back in two weeks for a
positive test!”
As much as I want to share those
intimate details with you all, I know what it’s like to jinx myself when it
comes to announcing pregnancy prematurely. In my case, you all will know when
it worked when I’m waddling down the street and can no longer see what color
socks I have on.
There have been lots of difficult
decisions to be made since starting IVF. The first one being, “Are we going to
do this?!” (The answer was always, “DUH. YES!”) The second one being, “Can we
afford to do this?” (The answer being “@!@* no!!-- but what middle-class
working person in America do you know that isn’t poor right now anyway? Might
as well be poor a little while longer.)
This was followed up with the
decision of what to do with any remaining frozen embryos-have them destroyed or
donate them? (The surprisingly easy answer: donate. There are couples out there who have
physical problems way worse than no Fallopian tubes. Woman who can’t make eggs, men who can’t produce sperm, among other issues. If I can provide someone the
same opportunity that science has provided me, then so be it.)
The next big decision will be “How many
embryos do we transfer?” This has weighed heavily on our minds since IVF became
a possibility. Sadly, the general public associates “IVF” simultaneously with
“TWINS”. I associate “IVF” with “THE OPTION FOR A COUPLE TO HAVE A CHILD”.
All cases are different because all women’s bodies are different. The number of
embryos to transfer is based on many different factors. Some women who do this
are older, therefore they put more in to give them a higher shot at achieving
pregnancy since this may be their one and only pregnancy. Some women have two,
three, and four put in because the doctor may think their uterus lining isn't strong enough to support all of them, so while they may lose two or three
embryos once implanted, at least they’ll end up with one or two live births.
In my case, I’m young. If I wanted,
I could put in one the first time and see what I got. If it doesn't work, the
next cycle I could put in one or two, and so on and so on. Here’s the thing:
Just because I’m young doesn't mean I want to go through this repeatedly,
unsuccessfully. I think we can all say for certain, I’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS,
FOUR TIMES, UNSUCCESSFULLY. I basically have the Oscar for “Pregnancy:
UNSUCCESSFULLY”.
I’ve always wanted a large family
because I come from a large family. I want my children to experience that. I
always said I wanted three children. Then I started dealing with…all this…and
my tune has changed. I just want one. ONE. I get frustrated with parents who
are struggling with conceiving a second and third child because I’m over here
all like, “JUST GIVE ME ONNNNNEEEEEEEE KIDDDD”. I feel like they aren't appreciating what they already have.
While I love my husband so very
much and he has been through all this with me since Day One, I’m the one who
has put my body through torture. Plus, there’s the whole “period” bullshit. If I had to make a decision right now, I’d say, transfer two. If I get two,
great! Two for the price of one. If I get one, THANK GOD. Get me to a healthy delivery and then TAKE. THIS. ENTIRE.
FEMALE. REPRODUCTIVE. SYSTEM. OUTOFMYBODY!
Bottom line, we’re going to do what
the doctor suggests that we do. In a nutshell, we have six times to try the
transfer using my litter of embryos. You’ll know what our decision is when I’m
at the hospital on Delivery Day standing in the parking lot using my Oprah
voice, hollering, “And YOU get a baby, and YOU get a baby…”
