Last Monday I got a glimpse at the team. I was in for my saline ultrasound and as I saw the round black spaces show up on the screen, I was taken aback. There they are, I thought, in awe. Those are our little guys. That’s who we’re going to be watching the next several weeks. That’s them. I spoke this aloud to my doctor — because I can be candid like this with her — and she replied, with excitement, “There’s Team [insert last name here]! Go guys!” Yes, there’s the team. What a wild thought.
How very “pre” this experience is in so many ways. That has to be the earliest look at one’s baby possible — if, of course, this results in a baby. Telling my dad about this he again confidently assured me that it would and hinted at wanting a copy of such a photo himself. If this works out I will certainly make that happen. So pre, too, in that I’m in on this early stage of conception which most couples are oblivious to. So pre, in that I’m talking to my dad about my ovaries, which I can say with certainty I never have done before.
The past two weeks have been so full of infertility and IVF advancements. My thoughts have been spinning and I’ve written many a blog post in my head, but time and access to my computer can’t seem to keep up.
Perhaps the hugest update to share is the gift that came in the form of an email last week from our IF pharmacy’s patient coordinator. At our nurse training last week we went over the various medications, learning how to time and mix and inject them, and the nurse called in the thirteen prescriptions I will be taking the next few weeks. It was overwhelming, and as we walked out I realized that, oh yeah, we need to pay the clinic! It’s surprised me lately how my mind is so all over the place that I’ve been overlooking some very obvious details about the process. Hubs and I discussed how to move money around from our various accounts to pay the different folks involved: the clinic, the acupuncturist, the pharmacy.
The email from my pharmacy came in and stated that our total came to $317. I knew this was not right and immediately was on the phone. Our plan covers $5000 of infertility diagnostics, but nothing else. We had planned to pay this all out of pocket. In speaking with her, however, she explained that they had submitted it to insurance and that our plan would be covering $4400 of the meds. I was stunned and told her there must be a mistake, but she assured me that it had been submitted and this was final, this was what they were paying. What a gift. $4400 we expected to pay was taken care of, just like that. I’m still having a hard time believing it. We met with the financial coordinator at the clinic Monday and she was in disbelief herself, saying it must have been a fluke and she has no explanation for it. This feels like reassurance and just a mercy and gift. And I’ll try to keep my skepticism at bay.
Another enormous thing is just how attentive and caring my doctor and fertility center are. I don’t know how to capture it here, but one example is that they give out journals to all of their IVF patients. I could feel her hope and excitement for us as she let me pick out the color — green, of course, for new life and the color I’ve dreamt of painting a nursery one day.
And then there’s the care package from my friend Laura, well into her health pregnancy with her little angel after her fourth IVF. She’s rooting for me and “here” via her texts and phone calls, and the package’s bubble bath and inordinate amount of chocolate. And the bag of Hershey’s kisses that came in the overwhelming box of meds last Friday.
All of these little things accumulate, and for me are adding up to a place of peace and a feeling of being held and contained in this scary, surreal process.
Seeing the team again this Monday — I’m calling them “Team Pearl” because 1) that would be a sweet last name and 2) they looked like perfectly round pearls huddled together, ready to go — I already felt attached. I’m noticing more of the hope than I’ve had in a long time, noticing myself follow the fantasy a little further of a child who could come of this process. I stay in it for a moment, but gingerly, and then tiptoe backward out. Not wanting to get too at home there, nor wanting to disturb it or shake it.
Today I’m thinking about them, all lined up. Healthy, rested, energized, and ready to receive the nourishment coming their way. The gate of birth control is up and they’re off to the races.
We’re all rooting for you, little pearls. We are rooting for you.