I used to be normal.
Textbook even.
I used to be a girl who was clearly made to have babies.
Not anymore though.
When I donated my eggs, I responded to the drugs with ease. I produced a perfect number of perfect eggs and walked away as though it was the easiest thing I had ever done.
I used to be normal.
My ultrasound this morning revealed 8 eggs - all under 15 (in whatever size standard it is they use to measure). They are still small, and already depleting in number.
I couldn’t help but be grateful on that table that I said “no” to sharing this cycle with my original donor couple when they asked me. As much as I wanted to be able to help them, and as much as I hated saying “no”; I can’t imagine sharing those eggs now. It already seems like there are too few. Like I am going to struggle to watch them reduce more. Like I am not prepared for how many will be lost through the fertilization process.
I only need one to make it to the end, but I will be anxious until the day I know I’ve got at least that.
As the 3rd tech for the 3rd time in under a week struggled to find my right ovary, I realized that when it comes to baby making – this will always be the new normal for me. My body is struggling to do what it is supposed to do with even the most advanced technology. I am no longer even responding to the meds the way I once did. Even this is a challenge. That glimmer of hope I had that maybe one day I could defy all odds and just unexpectedly get pregnant on my own was pretty effectively washed away.
I feel as though I will be lucky enough if this cycle works. My body just doesn’t seem to want to keep up.
This is my normal now.
We are still waiting on my estrogen levels, but given the ultrasound results everything is being pushed behind another two days. I was at the end of the meds I needed for this part of the cycle, so the clinic thankfully got me two more days worth of donated meds. I’m definitely stressing a bit about how many extra days I will need off work; about arranging the extra time for the car and the hotel and fixing my plane ticket. I just want one thing to go according to plan.
One thing to happen as expected.
One thing to be normal.
I realized something today though. As I sat there thinking about how fast my endo progressed and how quickly it took me from normal to this, I stopped feeling sorry for myself for a moment as I realized that maybe it was all for the best.
If my endo had progressed "normally", I don’t think I could have handled cycle after cycle of disappointment. I don’t think I would have wanted to live with the person that could have turned me into. Yes, I am still deeply saddened by how much I lost in such a short period of time, but I’m realizing that maybe this is better than the alternative. If it had happened slowly, would I have reacted in time? Would I have settled too quickly for the wrong man in the hopes of getting to where I wanted to be before it was too late? Would I have wasted years trying lesser cycle interventions, only to face disappointment month after month?
Would my new normal have turned me into someone who was bitter and unable to cope?
I hate that things aren’t going according to plan right now, but at least I feel like I missed out on those years of disappointment. I hate that I had to go straight to IVF, but at least I feel like there will be answers one way or another here soon. At least it isn't something that will be dragged on throughout years of my life; trying and failing over and over and over again.
At least I feel like no matter what, my new normal is pretty set in stone. There is no false hope to cling to.
There is something to be said for not having any hope in those lesser treatments; something to be said for needing to take out the big guns right away.
Something to be said for embracing your new normal all at once, rather than having to tortuously drag it out over years of failure.
I’m sure I could change my mind on this literally overnight should things shift in a bad direction, but right now I am thankful to at least know where I stand. Thankful to not have my hopes pinned to treatments that would likely have let me down. Thankful for the ability to look at an ultrasound screen and see the truth. Thankful for the knowledge that I am doing everything I possibly can to have a baby; that I will never look back and think to myself “what if”.
Thankful for my ability to adjust to the new normal.
Even if it isn't easy.
ADSPACE
