I was soaking in the tub the other day (temp less than 100 for sure- it is not easy, but I'm getting used to it) and random memories from the three plus years of trying to conceive kept floating to the surface of my consciousness.
Shortly before Thanksgiving in 2006 we were working with the doctor who earned the blog name Dr. Night. We had given up on clomid (an oral ovulation stimulant) months before because in two cycles of it my body reacted counterproductively by thinning my uterine lining. Upon giving up we ordered boxes and boxes of injectible hormones, the heavy duty stuff that is supposed to make your ovaries work over time and not trigger unhelpful (for the sake of fertility) side effects (forget the emotional side effects, the bruising...) Dr. Night was confident that with the boost to my system from these big guns, I'd be pregnant in no time.
I swallowed hard at the thought of this step. I'm not phobic of needles, but... I really, really don't like them. Thank God Kev was not intimidated. He learned the proper method of prepping and injecting and was ready to go. However, life being what it is, with our planned trip to Germany, and maybe with General Assembly awhile before besides... the meds sat in the fridge for a long time. It was fall before we finally got started with them. It may have even been November before everything in life and body cooperated to allow us to begin this step. When you're using injectible hormones you need to be closely moderated less a cyst start to form and grow out of control and so that they can give you another shot to stimulate the release of an egg or eggs right on time. This means ultrasounds and bloodwork practically every other day. And though our local hospital has the equipment, they don't turn results around fast enough which meant driving either 40 minutes north or an hour and a half southeast for a 15 minute appt. Obviously, we opted for 40 minutes north as often as possible.
Just one time at the hospital north of here I had a most memorable tech perform the ultrasound. She was prepping the equipment when she asked "Is this your first pregnancy?" My hackles went up, the defensive, protective thoughts kicked in, "Doesn't she know what she's doing? There's no baby in there. What an insensitive question?" My face showed my discomfort. Maybe I spat out "I'm not pregnant." I almost think I didn't though. I think she saw my pain on my face and responded "By that I mean, WILL this be your first pregnancy? You've got to speak it, Sarah." I relaxed. "Yes, it will be." We had a comfortable conversation there on out. The fact that my ovaries weren't responding to the hormones was not a source of distress that day. The information I got from her was far more valuable.
In the nearly two years since I have not always been able to speak it. Many of you know that more than once I have spoken negative possibilities into the universe- "It will NEVER happen."
Soaking in the tub the other day I smiled as I remembered her question and thought "Yes, this IS my first pregnancy." And I WILL be welcoming a child into the world. Wherever you are, kind tech, I'm speaking it now.