Deal With It

It's Christmas time. Family time. A little wistful for me (I've got to be honest), yet certainly full of quiet, contemplative moments where I am thankful for the amazing blessings I have. Things could always be worse, and I'm grateful they're not.

Driving home from the store one evening last week, we were commenting on Christmas decorations in the neighborhoods through which we passed. My son was in a particularly high mood. He felt magnanimous, and declared there were only two things he wanted for Christmas.

Me: What?
Him: I want the Lego Bionicle Fighter Jet. {We knew this one.}
Me: Okay, and what's the other thing you want for Christmas?
Him: I want a baby brother or a baby sister.

Twinge. Tight smile. "Keep praying for that," my husband commented. No matter how far away I think I am from it, I guess there will always be a little pain ready to pierce my heart at the mention of having children. Right now, it's also bittersweet; I know my son would make a great older brother. It's not terribly easy to hear a suggestion from him that I've been thinking about for the last six years.

An ironic part of the conversation sent my tight smile into a wry one when I reiterated how hard it is for some women to get pregnant and have kids.

Him: I just don't understand.
Me: You mean, you're confused about all the medical woman stuff?
Him: Yeah, pretty much.
Me: You're a boy, alright.

I didn't take offense. I dropped it. He doesn't understand or deal with infertility, although he does pick up on it. He empathizes as much as he can. But I do deal with it... for both of us.

I'm fervently glad it's a season of hope.

Essentially is Enough

I went to the Ob/Gyn today to talk about some ultrasound results. The doctor was looking for uterine fibroids. Not something I particularly care to find.

The nurse handed me a copy of the results summary from the lab after she took my blood pressure and ensconced me in an exam room. I had 15 minutes to mull over the latinate words and get worried over all-too-familiar terms like "cystic lesions" and "endometriomas." I've come a long way through the endometriosis journey. The excruciating pain that once so troubled me hasn't happened for seven years.

After I read through the results, I got a horrible sinking feeling. For the first time in years the weight of secondary infertility crashed down. I could feel sadness and despair wanting to edge into my heart. What if I'm not supposed to have any more children? I thought. Maybe I'm supposed to have only one child. The next inevitable thought of This isn't going to work I aimed at the dejection and turned it around. I wouldn't let the discouragement work. Whatever will come will come.

The doctor greeted me and we looked over the results. The only fibroid present was tiny, insignificant and uninterfering. The cysts were follicular: essentially normal in resolving throughout my cycle. The endometrium was normal. When I asked about my progesterone levels from a previous blood test taken five weeks earlier, the doctor told me that the normal range is 4 to 28, and my level was 16.

Wait a minute. Is she saying that essentially, things for me are normal enough?

As I sat there mystified, she dropped a bomb I hadn't even considered. "As far as infertility goes, it may not be you."

Hmm. It sounds like there may be a couple of more tests to run. And this time, they won't be on me.