Remember the barbaric yawp
? When my friends and I got stressed in high school, we'd talk about the yawp. We'd long to go someplace in the woods and be barbaric and yawp. (Yes, literature geeks, all of us.) I'd like to go someplace right now and yawp too. It's in me; I just need to let it out.
Why, you ask? You might think I haven't seemed particularly yawpy lately, and you'd be right. Chez WannaBeMoms we've taken my partner's recent news of infertility in stride. We've had cocktails on our back porch, rearranged plans, talked with dear friends, and generally come to a conclusion about the
Yesterday we had a visit with Dr. BusyBusyBusy, who I have to tell you, I really like a lot. I think he's adorable, and I love his accent. Anyhow, we go into his office, and we talk. He talks about the fibroid. Partner relates that she did some research, talked to a friend who had fibroids, got them removed surgically, and then had healthy kids, and Dr BBB says "No." No surgery. Well, okay; he'll do it, but he advises against it. Because of the placement of the cyst, it's dangerous. Perhaps a hysterectomy would happen, or worse, death. There'd be copious amounts of bleeding. To tell us the truth, if this was happening to his sister, he'd tell her not to do it. Too dangerous.
Now, I know my lovely partner, and I can tell this has hit her. It's not obvious-- she's not sobbing or sniffling or anything, but I can just tell. Somewhere along the line, without talking to me about it, she's clearly gotten her hopes up about the miracles of modern medicine. Her uterus isn't viable? Then make it so, Doctor! After all, you can make a baby in a Petri dish! (We're going to have a second opinion, but as we both agreed, we could go all over town and probably find at least one quack who says he'll cut into her womb, no problem! We're going slowly with this.)
The attention turns to me, and I explain our current plan. Get me knocked up with good old fashioned IUI, and then for the next pregnancy we'll do IVF-- take Partner's eggs, fertilize 'em, and swoop them into my uterus, where I essentially become a gestational surrogate for Partner. Easy, eh? What does Dr. BBB say to this? "No," again.
Not "no" because he doesn't think it's a good idea; after all, he suggested this plan to us before. He says no because her eggs are already 36 years old. If we wait two years, they'll be 38. More risks. More problems. Do the IVF first, and "God willing, Katie, your uterus is okay." I explain to him about my ultrasound and ovarian cyst, and he says, "Let's do another one right now. Where are you in your cycle?"
"Day three. I'm still bleeding."
"Day three?" Dr BusyBusyBusy asks incredulously? "Let's do the ultrasound right now!"
"I'm still bleeding," I say again. Perhaps he's so excited he hasn't heard me correctly.
"Yes, this doesn't bother me at all. It's just blood. But if you are uncomfortable...."
Here's the conclusion I've made about developing a relationship with an RE: It ain't going to go anywhere unless you just figure out all he or she wants from you is your feet in the stirrups, and your netherworld open for the world to see. I love the socks on the stirrups at Dr BBB's: little pictures of embryos and blastocytes. They say, "Keep hope alive, ladies, and open wide!" (Not really of course, but that's their message.)
My uterus, I have now learned, is beautiful, pear shaped, and ready to get a baby. My ovary has a cyst, next to it. He isn't particularly
worried about it. The chance it's cancer is, as he said, minimal. Minute. (Um, I'd sorta like it to be zero, but okay...?)
And then we start going down the crazy road of telling us what we need to do for IVF. At this point, I become utterly dazed. Like I know I am sitting on the table, with a sheet over my lap, but it's as if I am looking down on myself. I'm floating. Lupron, Gonal-F, Repronex, HCG, Progesterone and oil, build uterine lining, get eggs from partner, test for surges, call office, schedule lecture, mock transfer, call your insurance, etc. What?? WHAT???? The nurse talks to us, another meeting with someone from billing. The yawp need is, at this point, building steadily.
And now this morning I've been on the phone with the clinic, Blue Cross, and our benefits company for HOURS. I still can't tell if the injectables are covered by insurance. Do I need a prescription rider? If so, I have to wait 45 days for that to kick in, otherwise I can pay it out of pocket-- just add $4,000 to $7,000 extra on top of the $10,000 it's already costing. (Oh, only put half down to start, the second half due in, ha, nine months.) Oh yeah, and if we're not waiting for prescription drug coverage, then okay, Partner starts Lupron soon. I think? Shit.
Dare I say it now? I feel like a fucking science experiment. But also, how could I not do this for partner? Do you know how when someone you love is sick, and you think 'if I could take this sickness for him/her, I'd do it'? I know Partner isn't sick-- but I know the pain she's going through is very real and intense, and I know that she's comforted to think of at least one of the kids being genetically linked to her. She's said as much. And if that's the way she feels then... well... Bring on the science!
I just want a baby. We just want a baby. We're sick of waiting. (Whine, whine, whine!)
YAWP! YAWP, YAWP, YAWP!!!!