This week we received a call from the Professor’s mother. It was the kind of tearful call that you never, ever want to receive. Out of respect for the family, I will be vague. There is some concern over his aging father’s health. Something is not right, be it depression caused from an aging/failing body, outbursts because of a life-time of chronic pain or worse.
We are heading to Arizona to see them on Tuesday, which means we can better assess the situation with his health and their home. My in-laws are quirky and eccentric people and I like that about them! I come from an odd lot, too, so it feels homey when we visit. My in-laws are also the most generous people I have ever met. Long-time readers know that we call them “The Investors” when talking about Sabine and our IVF cycles, as they paid every ridiculous cent of it.
They helped us get setup in New York and continue to help us make ends meet so their son can get the awesome experience that comes from a post-doc at a prestigious university. I love my in-laws, complicated as our relationship may sometimes be. I do not wish this kind of ailing on them, or anyone.
Christmas is usually my holiday. I wait all year for Christmas and don’t get much sleep the nights heading up to it out of excitement for the big day, even though I know Santa does not exist! Now that I have a kiddo to infect with my abundance of Christmas cheer it is even more exciting. Having to deal with a potentially sick parent over Christmas just does not feel very jolly.
But it is absolutely necessary.
And not optional.
Because the Professor is an only child. There is no one else.
And that, dear readers, opens up a can of very complicated, very ugly and very dark worms.
I thought for sure I ovulated a little over three weeks ago. I was senselessly randy and then came a disgusting wad of egg white cervical mucus. I was dead certain I had ovulated. The next few weeks passed with much day dreaming about how I would tell the Professor I was pregnant. I thought about how we could rearrange our tiny apartment to fit two. I was walking on air.
Nearly four weeks later and the pee stick is still stark white with no period is in sight. I silently cry in the bathroom regularly now, mourning what could have been and what was not. Mourning the fleeting peace I had felt with an only child just a month ago.
I do want another baby. I want Sabine to have a sibling bond with someone she shares genetics with (crappy as they may be). I want her to have someone to invade her space on car trips. To play board games with when it rains. To have a secret code to keep parents from knowing what they are up to. To have someone by her side if or when one of us starts to falter, especially when dementia runs strong on both sides.
But the professor and I are both solidly in the “no more treatment camp.” I can’t stomach the thought of more needles. Of more bad news. Of more ultrasounds. Of more anguish and negative tests. Of embryos that fail to thrive. Of… you know the list.
Ultimately, I’m sitting here like an idiot waiting for the fabled “surprise” pregnancy that so many IVFers find themselves with after their miracle baby. Every month that my cycle fails to return, though, promises otherwise.
I’m not sure the point of this post. I’m not looking for encouraging stories of so-in-so who got knocked up after 8 million IVFs. I guess I’m just publicly acknowledging that sometimes one and done does not feel like enough.