I surrender

It was 7:30am this morning and my legs dangled from the cold ultrasound exam table as I waited for the tech to find my name (Egg, Good) in the database. She went directly for the right ovary, where Scrappy had been just a month ago. “Nothing there,” she said.

And then I breathed.

**********

It was 1:30pm this afternoon and it was just me, my ridiculously long memo of questions, a notebook and pen in the consult room. I tapped my feet. There was a newborn baby cradled by her adoring parents in the hallway. I could hear the cooing from my room.

I breathed.

Right on schedule, Dr. K came in. She has long dark hair, a kind and beautiful face, a quick and confident way of speaking, and an easy smile.

“I’ve been reviewing your history and treatment and here’s the thing: You are complicated,” were the first words out of her mouth [see sidebar at right]. Her off-the-cuff thought in our mini-consult during that fateful u/s about five weeks ago—that this all could be traced back to chronic exercise—didn’t jive with her examination of my blood work-up. High-ish testosterone, almost like a PCOSer except without a single additional PCOS symptom. Low-ish to VERY low LH, like a chronic exerciser except my BMI rocks and I have such awesome estrogen-producing ability that I persistently develop cysts. I’m all over the map! A complete puzzle!

I feel like a patient on the TV show House, which I’ve recently become addicted to.

Last week I had a nightmare about this consult. In my dream I said to Dr. K: “I am frustrated! I’ve been treated at this clinic for eight months and I’ve only ovulated once!” That felt so good to say out loud, I remembered as I woke up with tears streaming down my face. So today, in our consult, I said it.

And then I breathed.

The plan: After I stop BCPs and get my period, Gonal-F 112.5 nightly, just as Dr. C suggested. BUT, also an Rx for Luveris, a pure LH inject, to be taken starting CD8 if follicle response sucks. Which it might. Because “at this point we are literally shooting in the dark with you.” And then Progesterone support if ovulation can be induced. Because nothing is a sure thing. There’s the possibility of no maturing follies, and there’s the possibility of over-stimming. It’s best to think of this round of injects as diagnostic. And to brace myself for cysts in June.

Just breathe.

A chance is good. No matter what pain might be in my near future (canceled for no response, over-stimming, OHSS, BFN, thin lining), I like that we’re going deeper than “and now, Gooooonal-F because that’s what every patient who doesn’t get knocked up on Clomid gets!” I like the LH idea. And, yes, please bring on the Progesterone. I need all the help I can get. If I’m complicated, it seems reasonable that my injects cycle might also need to be complicated.

I don’t know how I will respond to injects. My REs don’t know how I will respond. There are no answers. I cannot Google my way out of this one.

And so, I am telling you now, I surrender.

I will do my best to enjoy my wonderful life and just let Dr. K and her injectables do their best to help me conceive. I haven’t believed this whole “I will have a baby someday”–notion in such a very long time. I haven’t allowed myself to. I don’t even remember what hoping feels like. What if I put all of my energy into melting away this diamond-hard protective layer I’ve built around myself? What if I allowed myself to think I might be one of the lucky ones who will be knocked up someday, somehow? What then?

What if I were to chill? What if I were to be positive? What if I were to cut myself some slack? What if I were to let someone else worry about me?

What if I were to give hope room to breathe instead of always, constantly, persistently, chronically stifling it?

What then?

I will, I will, I will, I will, I will.