...and some are not good at all. Makes me wonder why my stupid RE did not bother to work with me a year ago. Instead of a whole year of prolonged heartbreak / hope see-saw, we'd get a clear picture much sooner. Yes, it could have been a bleak and hopeless picture. But we would have saved time, and money, and effort. We would have had more strength and more time to pursue alternative avenues - or to come to terms with being a small and close family of three.
I am very angry at my RE, and at the other Dr. too. But most of all I am angry with myself. I was so confident in my ability to get pregnant, that I did not really stop to think about the implications of my low AMH. Or those of my age, or of my two (now three) ovarian surgeries. I did not do my research, and for that, I am paying dearly now. Apparently, in infertility world, if you don't do your own research, if you don't insist on tests, if you don't push and press and yell and ask and demand, you get nothing. Nothing but measly thyroid pills, endometrin suppositories, and two chemical pregnancies - stuff like that.
So what's now? I've already made new appointments with both Drs, to see them in the beginning of May. Now I need to stop crying for a long enough time to collect the kid from a daycare and spend a pleasant evening together. To skim through "It starts with an egg" and to order all the stuff mentioned there. To do the follicle count tomorrow, and to do another AMH test. And then we'll see. Of course, there's always a chance for a miracle, but I am not holding my breath. Personally, I think our realistic choice is between a) accepting the 3-person family, counting our blessings daily, and moving on - or b) trying with donor eggs. This second option terrifies the hell out of me. I am not very comfortable with the idea of being a mere vessel to someone else's baby - even if one part of the genetic material would be my husband's.
Which brings us to the question of my husband. My husband, who's out of town today, and who is having a rough time now with his parents' declining health. My husband, who seems to close off and perceive my despair as a sign that I am giving up. He doesn't want to hear the stats, he doesn't want to face the reality, he just wants to keep the fuck trying. He wants to hear from me that yes, I am still up to it, to all of it - drinking lots of shitty pills, peeing on sticks, hitting the walls with my new and old psychosomatic symptoms, timing intercourse, hoping. He doesn't mention failing. We need a chance, he says. Otherwise the life is too horrible, he says.
He is right. But I don't want to be always hoping for a miracle, and to build castles in the air. I want to have more solid foundation on which to build our plans, something more tangible, something less esoteric.
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