There's Always Hope

I barely got through my conference call without crying. I called David afterward and told him I took a test without him and I was sorry that I did that but the voice told me to and it was negative like we thought (all in one breath). He was sorry and sad. He tried to be encouraging, but it wasn’t really the time. “Well, we’ll try again next month. But it does suck.”

Since his parents were already with him, he went ahead and told them. That meant the entire family would know by the end of the hour, so I decided that meant I should tell my family too.

I sent a quick email to those I knew would be waiting to hear from me. Quick like a bandaid. It was short and to the point. I worked the rest of the day, and ate a lot of chips. And bread. And chocolate. And a beer. And I might have soaked a green olive in some vodka before eating it.

David and I talked for a while that night. He noted that this could be a much longer process than we anticipated and that we should just be ready for that. We talked about the possibility of adoption and whether or not we ever wanted to do in-vitro fertilization (where they take the egg out, fertilize it in a dish, and then put it back in). We agreed that eventually, we would somehow have a child. It’s hard thinking about adopting a baby and never being able to have your own, but the “baby” part was so much more important than the “own” part. Besides, every baby show on TV tells stories of women who tried for 3, 4, even 10 years before conceiving. There’s always hope.

The next morning, I begrudgingly went to my blood test. I tried to sing along to the radio on the drive while envisioning having to make this very drive hundreds more times than I wanted.

When they called my name, I walked towards to the “blood station” and the nurse asked, “Sooo…what do we think?” I told her I cheated and took a test. Negative. “Well, those tests are wrong all the time. You never know!” I told her it looked like my period was about to start and that last month we took a test on the same day and it was right. She sort of frowned. I hate it when nurses frown. It makes me feel very uneasy.

David wasn’t there with me this time to put on a puppet show with the squeezy sperm and bull, so the needle really hurt. The nurse told me to go talk to “Scheduling” and come in for a consult. She said sometimes it feels good to go back to the drawing board and come up with a new plan. I couldn’t imagine how many plans there could be. I mean, sperm, egg. How many combinations are there? Maybe they know something I don’t know.

I told the gal at the front desk I wanted to talk to Dr. New York about our next steps. She said that sounded like a great idea and offered me an appointment in 2 days. I got a cute little appointment card and waved a sad goodbye. 

I went back to work at home. Loads of emails and lots of I needs. I wanted to respond to many of them by saying, “Hello? I just found out that my third fertility cycle was a failure and I may never become a mom. YES, YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR PROJECT MANAGEMENT. It’s the LEAST you can do.”

I forgot that I get a phone call in the afternoon to confirm the results, so when the phone rang and I saw “Jex Fert” on the caller ID, my heart got sad again. I picked up.

“Erin?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, sweetie, it’s Sally. How are ya?” She said it in a sad, your-dreams-just-died-so-I-already-know-how-you-are kinda way.

“Oh, I’m ok, Sally. It’s ok.”

“Yeah. I know. Well, I went ahead and cancelled your consult appointment.”

“Oh ok. Wait, why?”

“Because you don’t need it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pregnant.”