Io recently posted that, to her dismay, she was running out of things to say. That got me laughing, because I feel the same way. When I started posting in January, I was desperate for company and comfort, with a thousand things to say about how unfair life is and how outrageous that Fertile World is. I wrote about grief and friendship and love. And I felt really good about what we IF-chicks were creating here in the blogosphere.
And then I got really busy at work, which, while stressful, did wonders for my self-esteem, and I didn’t have time to post, or even check in on everyone else. And now that’s over, and I’m back, and is it possible that I really have nothing to say? This seems so unlike, well, me. (I’ve been accused of many things, but rarely a loss for words.) I seem to have just dried up.
So I spent some time today thinking about that. Am I really out of things to say? Or, with my final partially-insured IVF cycle looming, am I just desperately trying to avoid thinking about what’s coming? Hmmm… pretty plausible.
So I present to you a list of things I fear are going to happen, with an assessment of how likely they are:
1. Next week, I am going to learn that the billing person at my RE’s office hasn’t put in my insurance preauthorization request for my IVF cycle, which she promised to do yesterday. (Likelihood: I give this even odds. She’s not the sharpest tack in the box.)
2. My period will start early next week, and my insurance won’t be in place yet, and I’ll have to decide whether to wait another month, or beg my RE to let me pay out-of-pocket for my sono and bloodwork so that the insurance has time to process (usually they don’t let you separate one visit from the $10K flat rate for a self-pay IVF cycle). (Likelihood: even odds again. My cycles have been REALLY short lately.)
3. Getting the insurance company to cover my injectibles will be a nightmare, again. They say they cover it, but then I can’t get anyone to authorize it. Last time the nurse at my RE office spent two hours on the phone with the insurance company trying to work it out. (Likelihood: very probable. Grrr…)
4. The two weeks on the pill are going to send me into a downward spiral of deep depression. (Likelihood: probable. Happened to me last time. But might be better this time, because I’ll see it coming.)
5. Whatever I decide about acupuncture, it will be wrong. I have to ask my RE whether she thinks it’s okay if I drop it this time. If she says I should do it, I’ll still be unhappy about it, because I want to stop and I have totally unrealistic reasons for thinking it caused problems last time. If she says yes, and I stop it, maybe my cycle won’t go as well. (Likelihood: This is going to stress me out no matter what.)
6. My ovaries and uterus will have a bad reaction to the stims. Since my surgery, I still get a lot of twinges that seem unusual. Maybe I’m just paying more attention now? (Likelihood: very low. I’ve done pretty well with two cycles already, so doing the stims without the fibroids or the endometriosis has to be even better.)
7. J’s sperm are going to be worse, or even nonexistent. Ooh, this is Numero Uno on my list of things freaking me out. J’s been really amazing—hasn’t had a drink or smoke since Thanksgiving (neither have I, showing my solidarity). But last time we had sex I noticed (LOTS of TMI right here, so move on if squeamish) that the cyst he’s had on his scrotum for years seems to have gotten bigger. After (didn’t want to freak him out during), I asked him about it. “The doctors have already checked it out,” he informed me testily (sorry, couldn’t resist), “it’s not cancer.” He’s right, they did check it out, and they told him that since it was on his sac, not actually attached to a testicle, it was nothing. But I’m telling you that thing has GROWN. Maybe it’s not testicular cancer, but that doesn’t mean it’s not skin cancer, does it? I badgered him into agreeing to go to our PCP and getting a referral to someone about it, but he hasn’t done it yet, and it’ll probably take months for him to get seen by whatever specialist you go to for something like this. This is probably totally unrelated to sperm count, but I’m totally paranoid about it, both with regard to his health and his sperm morphology. I mean, what if we got to the big day and there were no sperm? Did I mention this is our last shot at an insurance-covers-half cycle? (Likelihood: really low. But still an issue I have to force J to deal with soon.)
8. And then there’s the Big One. I get preggers again, and have another miscarriage. Maybe even later in the pregnancy this time. I’ve never done an IVF cycle with a BFN, so I don’t obsess over that (thought it’s certainly a huge possibility). Instead, I’ve been mostly pregnant once, with two weeks of bleeding, a month of bloodwork every other day, an ectopic scare when the numbers weren’t going down, and the bitter hormone crash that comes even with a “chemical pregnancy.” And I’ve been all the way pregnant as well, with a nightmarish night in the emergency room all alone with an ectopic pregnancy, then a month of bloodwork, shots, miscarrying, more fancy sonos, and yet another brutal hormone crash. No doubt about it, my IVF cycles have ended badly. So I have to wonder what horror this one will bring. (Likelihood that this will end in miscarriage: Who the fuck knows? None of my three miscarriages appear to have been caused by my fibroids, so my surgery doesn’t really cause me much relief. I’ve just had really bad luck. So could I have more bad luck? Sure. As far as I know, there’s no quota.)
So, Io, are you sure you don’t have anything to write about? Or, like me, are you just scared to think about what’s out there on the horizon?