The phrase “third time’s the charm” is rooted in the ancient belief that the number three is magical. I sure as hell hope there is some truth to that. As I sit here tonight, I could use all the magic I can get.
Today, Justin and I began our third, and likely final, journey down the road of infertility treatment. The previous two attempts, being obviously unsuccessful, have left their fair share of scar tissue clouding my heart and mind when it comes to trying to conceive. I’m not sure what it is, but something tells me this time will be different. So, here I begin this blog. This story of Us: While We Wait.
For the sake of story telling, let me back up. At 39 and 41 years old, this is not something we planned to do again. Three months ago to the day (there’s that magic number again), I began experiencing frequent and excessive periods, with new cycles beginning every 13-15 days. Frustrating. Draining. Exhausting. Scary.
My first attempt at answers was with my family doctor who told me I was anemic (no shock there) and likely peri-menopausal. In a word, I was devastated. The periods continued and I was then referred to a gynecologist, Dr. Mitro. Here, after a series of tests, I was told it could be: cancer, fibroids, or a hormone imbalance. More tests confirmed a hormone imbalance likely due to my PCOS. Dr. Mitro said we could treat this with hormone therapy, which would take away any chance of ever getting pregnant. Or, if I still had the desire to become pregnant, he could refer me to a fertility specialist. So this is how I found myself in the care of Dr. Reshef, my third (3!!) doctor in the last three months.
Today we saw Dr. Reshef for the first time and developed an “aggressive and judiciously swift” course of action. In the world of fertility, 39 is geriatric. Literally. In less than a month, I will be back on fertility drugs. I have hope as this is a new one that wasn’t around the prior two times we attempted infertility drugs. We both really liked Dr. Reshef. We found him both competent and compassionate, and like I said…I feel good about it this time. Judiciously optimistic, to borrow his phrase.
I am a ball of emotions, feeling all the things. At this point, I don’t know if I am more terrified at the thought of my last attempt at carrying my own child being unsuccessful OR actually becoming a parent at the end of this. At forty years old, are we crazy?! Probably. But, that’s a story for another day. Today I am going to pray to the fertility gods and the “magic of three” that this actually works.
(ten. eighteen. twenty-twenty one.)
Making Babies (and other things I'm bad at) 