By: Stacey Ellis
The day after we dropped off the papers, I got my period. The moment of truth was here. One more FSH test will determine if all those vitamins and other “egg quality enhancing” things like wheat grass juice and royal jelly really made a difference. Of course it came on a Saturday. Fantastic, I have to wait until Monday for the test (day 3). I’m inside my head knowing I want this over once and for all. But what if my FSH test is normal? What if my doctor says, let’s go for it and we move into another IVF round? We just decided to adopt! I’m excited to adopt!
It took the nurse three tries to draw the blood. “This could be my last blood test ever. This is it,” I said. She looked at me with sad eyes. “No, it’s okay,” I said, “We’re going to adopt.” I had a smile on my face. Was I faking it? Was I hoping the numbers were normal? Or secretly, was I hoping they weren’t so I could continue to diet and work out and feel good. We could continue to get on with our lives and planning for our child through adoption and close the hope door forever. I went to work and put the tests completely out of my mind.
Long before I got my period, Steve and I made an appointment to visit a childcare facility on this day. I’d love to stay home with our child but that’s not meant to be quite yet. When the economy picks up, we hope Steve’s business will skyrocket and staying home will be an option. The childcare facility we visited was unreal. Just unreal. It made me want a child, any child, now. Every kid seemed happy. Every kid seemed engaged. Every kid was someone else’s kid. Everyone else on the tour was pregnant. One woman, who appeared to be late 40s, was pregnant with twins. I couldn’t help but wonder if she used an egg donor. After all we’ve been through, I knew it wasn’t any of our business. We proudly told the other parents that we are adopting and we smiled while saying it, meaning it wholeheartedly.
During our visit, I knew my lab tests were in. They arrived to the doctor between 3:00 PM and 4:00 PM. It was 3:45. I was dying to know what they said and at the same time, so didn’t care at all. We’re adopting! It doesn’t matter! When we got back to the car, I said to my husband, “I should call the doctor.” The nurse fiddled around for a second, trying to find my chart. My FSH started at 33, then settled in around 13.9. Anything above 10 was bad. Today it was 8.5. WHAT? 8.5. One more time? 8.5. And my estrogen and progesterone levels were normal. Normal? What is normal? Normal. As in, for the first time ever, I have numbers that were potentially conducive to producing a healthy egg. Our world was once again spinning out of control.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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