For the last several months, we’ve been in a holy-shit-what-do-we-do-now holding pattern over the treacherous land of babymaking. No longer willing to spend hundreds of dollars every month on methods that just aren’t working, though not yet fully-committed to the idea of dropping $17k on a last-ditch attempt with IVF, we’ve been going about things the good old fashioned way. That is, if you consider nightly shots in the stomach, bi-weekly IVIG infusions, taking 23 pills a day, peeing on sticks and setting alarms to have sex, the good old fashioned way.
And every month it seems the good old fashioned way continues to end in good old fashioned heartbreak. So now, as the husband says, it’s time to shit or get off the pot.
Sure, perhaps we’d keep going if it weren’t for all the above-mentioned shots, infusions and pills. But the reality is, they’re taking a very serious toll – both mentally and financially. Not to mention the possible affect all those dangerous medications could have on my long-term health.
So we’re about to end our holding pattern and make our final descent. But not without one last dance with destiny. I’ve officially entered what will likely be my second-to-last two week wait.
Which means it’s my second-to-last round of pausing with every belly twinge. My second-to-last round of incessantly checking my nipple status. My second-to-last round of not knowing whether or not I should feel guilty about that glass of wine. My second-to-last round of pills up the hooha and IV marks up my arm and searching for a bruiseless spot on my stomach to plunge the needle in.
My second to last two-week-wait is here. And then it’s on to our final destination: one round of IVF. And the hardest, most final two week wait of all. Please fasten your seat belts.