The Northeast Clinic wanted me to come in this weekend for another early in the cycle lining check. No biggie. I had a light period (oh, right, I TALK ABOUT THIS STUFF…so there’s your heads up) and things weren’t looking exactly perfect at my first scan of the cycle. No one seemed so bothered by it and I was told to go ahead and begin the estrogen meds.
I was so excited. Seriously excited.
Friday was a chaotic day of returning back to Philly after being away for a few days. In the midst of the chaos I saw that I had received a letter from the Northeast Clinic. My first thought was that it was a bill for my transfer. When I opened the envelope and read the letter I was crushed. It detailed that the clinic wanted me to undergo more blood work and cultures before I could begin a cycle. It also said that they wanted me to have a saline sonogram.
It was beyond confusing. Didn’t they realize that I was in the midst of a trying cycle? Didn’t they realize that I was already on meds?
I went in to the clinic on Saturday morning with a brave face. Fine. If they wanted me to have all of these things done then they could do them right then and there on Saturday morning. When I signed in for my scheduled ultrasound/ lining check I showed the letter to the women at the front desk. “Can I get this done today too?” They took the letter, confused. Obviously things were not going to be so simple.
I had my lining checked, managed to get the extra blood work done with my regular labs, and when I returned to the front desk to find out about the saline sonogram I found out that “people were looking into it.”
Turns out that the clinic is so large that there is a department that handles billing, a department that handles the treatment, and a department that handles required testing – and no one had been talking to each other about me.
The super sweet women at the front desk were trying to get me answers – did I even NEED the saline sonogram? They found out that I didn’t need the cultures so maybe this was something that we could jump over as well. But then they explained that one of the reasons I was noted to schedule the saline sono was because I had W via C-section and they wanted to make sure I didn’t have any scar tissue in my insides.
Suddenly I didn’t want to skip this test. Suddenly I actually really wanted it.
I was told that IF I cold be squeezed in this week (and based on when you should have this test, this week is when it needed to happen) that it would be Monday afternoon. And IF it happened on Monday I could, as long as the scan didn’t show anything contrary, proceed with my embryo transfer next week.
I held on to hope. This wasn’t a set back. This was a bump in the road. I can buckle up and handle a bumpy road. No problem.
What I didn’t expect was to get a call later Saturday afternoon telling me that my lining was too thick to continue this cycle. Stop all medication. No transfer this month. Nope. I didn’t expect that call at all.
I am horrible, awful, no good, terrible when things don’t go according to plan. One of the most difficult parts of trying so long and so hard to become W’s Mom was facing, monthly, the reality that I am not in control. I do not get to decide. I endured SO many crazy and weird set backs and each one beat me down and changed me. What I wanted most of all for this season of trying was to not meet any set backs. Not because I didn’t know that they could happen, but because I remember all too well how hard they hit me.
And yet here I am.
In my brain I absolutely understand why I need to wait another month. A thick lining this early in a cycle will not become a lovely environment for an embryo to attach itself to. And having a check to make sure that my uterus is all clear before having a transfer is smart. It would be awful to have not given myself a proper chance here.
My heart has a memory of going through set backs, the anxiety, the fear…am I doomed from the gate? Is this just one big sign from whatever that I should be thankful with what I have and not tread on these waters again? I gave myself just over 24 hours to freak out and cry and stretch the rubber band of dark depression to the edge. 24 hours to wallow, to moan, to weep. I won’t be having a baby this year. Let that go.
This afternoon I will drive myself to the Northeast Clinic and have the saline sonogram. I will think calming thoughts, I will tell myself that it will all be ok. I will pick myself up and push forward because I am not done trying.