I took Tess to RMA on Groundhog Day for a follow-up appointment to discuss the possibility of another FET cycle. It was wonderful introducing her to Nurse Anne and to Dr. Hock. They loved holding her and cooing and cuddling with her. I took some priceless photos that bring us full-circle.
It was such a surreal experience to bring our living, breathing frosty to the office where it all started. We first saw her on the monitor as a follicle (perhaps Large Marge?) and then we saw her again, heart beat and yolk sack, through 8 weeks of pregnancy. Amazing. It is simply amazing.
Three weeks ago, I was all fired up like, "yeah, let's do this!" I have always wanted to be done having children, however many that may be, before my 30th birthday. The endometriosis made that less of a goal than a mandate. Lucky me. I am a good healer, though, as Dr. Hock said, and because I'm in otherwise great health, she sees no reason to wait. I was cautioned that my risk of developing both complications again, placenta previa and pre-eclampsia, is high. Like 40% high. Still, I was undaunted.
After a quick peek inside to check the status of the uterus and ovary(ies?), everything looks quiet. No discernible cysts, some normal follicular growth on the right side, and a really cool view of my internal c-section scar on the ol' uterus. We worked out a provisional schedule.
I would need to have another saline sonohysterogram before proceeding, just to make sure we're clear of adenomyosis and any problematic scar tissue/fibroids post-baby. It also helps to remap the now-used womb. Ain't my first trip to the rodeo this time around, y'all, and things do shift. It was reiterated that I have a rather extreme anterior tilt to my uterus and this is why the saline sono was probably so painful last time. "A full bladder should help" (yeah, ok) but I'm not holding my breath and I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to med up. That's right. It was worse than childbirth. It was worse than getting a tooth pulled. It was probably even worse than having that abscess drained in front of me with nothing but a muscle relaxant to soothe me. I won't go into graphic detail but imagine having a thin tube inserted into your nethers and imagine the sensation of that tube being on fire. For 10 minutes. AWFUL.
Alas, this is all par for my course in IVF Land and though I can't say I'm totally gangbusters to deal with the unpleasantness again, especially with Tempest to consider, another baby is worth it. Right?
But it's there, every third thought in my brain; that nagging voice asking me if I'm sure.
Maybe it's the relentless freeze that has come to define this winter and the seeming impossibility that the three of us, O, T, and me, will ever get outdoors together for any length of time again.
Maybe it's the fact that I'm dreading the saline sono on St. Patrick's Day (decidedly not my favorite procedure.)
Or maybe, just maybe, it's because I've finally had time to absorb the gravity of the situation; the facts and figures and practicality of it.
A 40% chance of everything going to hell. That's higher than my odds of even getting pregnant again.
I suppose, more than the economics or the practicalities of life with a toddler and newborn, the decision comes down to my health.
Do I want this badly enough to take the odds?
At worst, do I want to compromise my body for potentially the rest of my life?
At best, do I want to be incapacitated, should I have another SCH or previa that maybe doesn't resolve this time and thus the only course of treatment is bed rest?
As lovely as a little sister or little brother for Tempest sounds in theory, I am less and less convinced with each passing day that this feels right. I'm usually spot on when it comes to heeding my gut instinct. My blood pressure is still all over the place, more than 5 months post-partum, and while that can be normal for pre-e, it can also indicate chronic hypertension -- and yes, this does run in my family so I don't really want to mess with being on meds for the rest of my days.
I have done the sensible thing and set up my 6 month GYN visit with the good Dr. Convery. I'm going to level with her and talk through everything I've been thinking/reading. She won't pull any punches and I have a sneaking suspicion she'll tell me straight that maybe this is something to seriously consider before moving forward with RMA. After all, she saw me at my worst. My absolute, get-this-baby-out-of-me /as yet undiagnosed pre-e worst, just two days before giving birth. She ordered the tests that likely saved Tempest from complications. She also spoke to me on the phone an hour before my father drove me to the hospital to express her concern and well-wishes on the probable delivery of my child that night.
In short, I will not move forward with anything until I get the blessing or the Do Not Pass Go from my beloved OB. (Well, now she's my gynecologist, which is weird, but at least I also get my annual out of the way.)
With everything we have in the mix - ok, everything I have to contend with, for indeed, it is my body we're talking about, not to mention that I am the primary caregiver to the loves of my life - this decision is one we very well may be discussing each and every day until we've reached a mutually agreeable conclusion.
It's not a question of want. Of course I want another child. I'd take two or three more! But it isn't that simple, is it? Not for us. It will never be that simple for us.