Before I say anything else, there is some thanking in order. Thank you, eighteenyears, for nominating me for that lovely award. Thank you, loribeth, for putting this post on Mel’s Friday Blog Roundup. Thank you to whoever put that same post on LFCA. And of course, and with all my heart, thank you to everyone who commented on that one.
We are almost through our “breather” month. (Expecting CD1 any day now — I ovulated a little later than usual so I’m not sure quite when.) We have talked and talked and talked about what to do next. We had a WTF-style appointment with our RE at which for the first time he invoked the Rule of Three.* We talked about doing an IUI cycle with injectibles, but he was of the opinion that the only benefit to that would be to see how I respond to the drugs. Not that it would actually get me pregnant. So what the hell is the point?
The plan he recommends is IVF, with or without ICSI. I asked why on earth we wouldn’t do ICSI, and he made the best argument against it that I’ve heard — apparently, they can’t always tell by looking which sperm have the genetic goods. Seemingly “perfect” sperm can fail to fertilize, and seemingly malformed sperm can result in … wait for it … babies. The whole process of ICSI is based on the clinic’s ability to pick the good ones and get them all up in there, but since they don’t really know which ones are the good ones, sometimes they get better results by just putting the eggs and sperm in a petri dish and letting them fight it out.** So, just like the number of IUIs, he is wanting us to think through the ICSI/no ICSI thing for ourselves. Damned self-determination! Presumably, just like with IUI, after we make a choice he will swoop back in and actually tell us what he thinks.
I had a long phone conversation with the clinic’s IVF coordinator, who didn’t bat an eye at the fact that I called her on her cell phone when she wasn’t even in the office (it was the number the RE gave me — I assumed it was her office phone). Once I realized it I apologized four or five times, but she just stopped whatever she was doing and talked with me. I like her already — but I don’t want to take advantage. We are repeating some tests (yet another SA for him, CD3 bloodwork for me) and then we are going to come in for what they call The IVF Meeting. They want us to do this meeting even if we’re not sure we want IVF — apparently walking through the process can help people make a decision. Personally I love this because it means I can feel like I’m doing something without actually having to decide a thing. My usual practice of avoiding the hard things. Not so good in the long run, but it does keep us moving.
But apart from that, in the many many conversations with my husband, I think I may have agreed to do IVF. Once. I am so worried that if it fails he will blame me, resent me, start tallying up all the cups of coffee I’ve had over lo these many years, all the exercise I don’t get, all the fattening food I make,*** everything I’ve ever done wrong, and then I will not only not have a baby, I won’t have a marriage either. And we are back to the Life Plan of Living in My Mother’s Spare Room, which is always the endgame of my pessimistic thought patterns. I know he would never blame me — but still I keep asking him. “Will you still love me if it fails?” “Will you resent me if it fails?” “Will you blame me if it fails?”
So there is that.
But on the positive side, we have even come up with a plan to pay for it. The clinic wants us to pay them in full for the entire cycle up front (about $15,000). Needless to say, although we really are doing OK, we don’t just have that lying around in cash. So my husband told me that his parents had once offered to let us borrow from their HELOC if we needed help getting a down payment together for a house.**** We are thinking that if that offer still stands, we could probably borrow the money from there and make payments on it for a year or so. But that will mean telling his parents what is going on.
My husband has been very uncomfortable telling his family about our infertility. They know I had surgery, and they know the surgery was because we couldn’t get pregnant, and they can use a calendar so they do know that two more years have gone by with no sign of a grandbaby, but they never talk about it. He is going to have to tell them. I think for him, having this conversation with his parents is on the level of difficulty that agreeing to do IVF was for me. I need to let him do it in his own time — but I also need his own time to be kind of soon, since we want to try to do this during the summer (when he’s not in class and will have more time to hold my hand and shuttle me back and forth to the clinic and stick needles in my butt), which means we will need to come up with the money fairly soon, either from his parents’ HELOC or from some other (magic fairyland) source.
So saddle up, ladies*****, it looks like we are doing this. Holy shit.
*As in, if this IUI business hasn’t worked yet, it might be approaching cray-cray to keep beating that horse. Not that he called me a horse. Or crazy.
**The RE didn’t explain it in quite this way, of course, but I think I’m pretty close to his meaning.