April 13, 2012

Friday the 13th turned out to be a terrible day for me. It started out very promising. The day before was such a fun day, in fact, that I was sure Friday was going to bring good news as well. It was not quite my third cycle day, but close enough and with the weekend coming up, we decided to schedule the appointment with the doctor for that afternoon. I went by myself. Won’t make that mistake again. 


So, the appointment starts out great and it’s time for my internal ultrasound. It’s me, a robe, a blanket, stirrups, a doctor, a nurse, a PA and the equipment. Ready, go. As he is looking around, he counted the follicles. Only 6 on one side and 4 on the other. Not good. A normal 29-year-old should have about 24 total and I only have ten, so he tells me he’s already worried about reserve. “Okay, we talked about this,” I think to myself. We’ll probably just need to move fast. Then, he sees the real problem. I have cysts on my ovaries. These are fibroids that he can see and they are attached. I don’t know what they are, but he tells me they aren’t good and he doesn’t like the location of them. He says he wants to do a test where he inserts a saline solution in to see how the flow is and where the placement is in comparison to the important stuff. The first saline test doesn’t work like he intended, so that’s concerning. 


The entire time this process is taking place, I have this nervous, worried energy that is causing my legs to shake uncontrollably. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. No matter what I did or thought about, to try and distract me, I couldn’t stop shaking. The nurse kept having to remind me to breathe…maybe I was in shock or just extremely uncomfortable. Either way, it wasn’t pleasant. They do another saline test and get the catheter right where they want it. After it’s over, the nurse lays down a huge pile of towels under me and says to stand up so that I can clean up. It’s embarrassing to be in that situation where you can’t control what’s happening and the mess running down your legs just reminds you of the mess you’re in. So I clean up and wait for the doctor to come back to talk to me more about what is happening. 


He draws a diagram of the different types of fibroids I have and where they are. He explains that the other three are not great, but we could work around them. Then, there’s the trouble maker fibroid that is messing everything up. He explains that I could get pregnant now, but that it would result in miscarriage after miscarriage, which is something I’m not interested in. He feels the best option is to remove the troublesome fibroid via surgery. He tells me the surgery is dangerous and very serious, but that it’s probably the best option at this point. 


I’m in shock. I thought he might say something more along the lines of “here are some hormones to take to help jump-start your system, some shots to regulate your cycle and please have sex at 4pm on Tuesday.” Something less along the lines of a dangerous surgery that could damage your uterus. Wait ... what just happened here? It didn’t seem real. I heard him give me a lot of information, but I’m not sure I was able to actively listen. I tried, but I also wanted to hold everything together and be strong. He’s so funny and we were just joking around 15 minutes
before this happened, so I wanted to save face. I want to stay strong and show him I’m not too weak to handle what he’s given me. So, I hold it together. In a daze, I walk down to the lab for blood work. Several vials of blood later and I’m out of there. 


Once I get in my car and make it out of the parking lot, that was it. I texted Dell “not good” and he called immediately. I explained everything to him and broke down. He assures me he will take care of me and we’ll get through this together. I tell my mom and sister and then head back to the office to finish up some work. It’s obvious I’ve been crying and I really need to go home. So, I finish a few things and then duck out an hour early. I cry on the way home out of nowhere and once I get home, I explain everything to my sister, who greeted me at the front door. She knows there’s nothing she can say or do to make it better, so she just hugs me and cries with me. She offers support in the best way. I hate that she had to go through infertility issues of her own for so many years, but I’m glad I have her to understand and empathize with me. I know there’s a reason we’re still living under their roof and I’m sure this has something to do with it. So, I thank God for that blessing.


She takes me to get our nails done and it’s a nice few hours of just getting out. Once home, I talked to Dell about it some more until it’s time for bed. I tell him that I feel like I don’t have a lot going for me right now. I don’t have as many follicles as I should have. I don’t have as big of follicles as I should have (mine are like 9mm and should be around 21mm, or something like that). I have cysts. I have irregular periods and cycles. Not a lot to report that’s good. 


It’s late now and he falls asleep first, then I go to the bathroom to cry again. I am sitting on the bathroom floor crying as quietly as I can into a towel. I am begging to please just let me get through this and have a baby. Over and over again, I repeat, “Please God, help me. I am scared and need comfort.” Once I feel that I am calm enough to go to bed without waking Dell, I crawl in next to him and watch television. If it’s quiet, I think and there’s not much for me to think about right now. So, I watch mindless television and hope I can fall asleep that way. That doesn’t work, so I turn the television off and just lay there. It’s well after 1 am and the quietness of the room allows my mind to wander again. This time, crying and begging “Please God. I just want to have a baby with this man that is lying next to me. I love him so much and I want to give him a child. Please help me.” That is the honest place of my heart. When I’m lying awake at night, that’s what I’m thinking. That is the desire of my heart. When the worry or anxiety creeps in, like it always seems to do, I find myself just saying the very simple statement “I want to make a baby with my husband.”


The next morning I wake up and see myself in the mirror. My eyes were almost entirely swollen shut. I told my sister I looked like a prized fighter. Now that I’m thinking about that statement, it seems fitting. I’m fighting this battle and I can’t give up.


The doctor wanted to get a better look at the problem fibroid, so the next appointment is next Friday. I’ve started a list of questions and am looking forward to getting some answers.