Storm Clouds

Where to start.

Four years, six months and 27 days.

That is how long we tried.

There were shots.

Ultrasounds.

Tests.

Surgery.

Trying.

Lots of trying.

Trying the old fashioned way.

Trying on a schedule.

Trying without a schedule.

Trying with IUI.

Trying with every ounce of trying we had.

But there was Frank.

Fibroid Frank, who isn't really a fibroid, but a mass with a really fancy name that I can't remember right now.  And Frank made his happy little home behind my uterus, bumping right up next to it so that he can't be removed without damaging my uterus in such a way it too, would have to be removed.  And he has been there for  years.  He has lived and thrived and grown.  Oh, how he has grown. He has pushed my left ovary out of the way for ever - hence it's name: Waldo.  But there was always the right guy.  The go to right ovary guy.  He was our saving grace.  Always full of follicles, he was going to see us through to the end. But then Frank grew.  And he has managed to push the ever faithful right ovary off to the side where he can't be reached. 

And with no available ovaries, there are no eggs. 

No eggs mean no IVF.

 No eggs, no IVF, no baby.

Thanks, Frank.

So we are done.  

We have given it every ounce of energy, every penny, every hope, every dream, every positive thought we had.

We gave it all.

We got back up with each set back and fought on, pushing through the hoops.

But this isn't the road that we are meant to take in our path to being parents.  

I'll never know why.

But I can't fight it - we did that.

It sucks.

It hurts.

It's frustrating.

I am angry.

I feel like I failed.

I feel like I failed my husband. 

My heart broke in a way I have never before experienced when I had to tell him that we were done.  

When I had to tell him I couldn't give him a baby, my heart shattered.

But through the rain and the clouds, there is always the sun.

And that sun is our next adventure:  Adoption.

This isn't how I pictured our family growing, I don't think either of us ever did, but it feels right. 

 It feels like this is the path we are meant to take.

What is this new path going to look like?  

We don't know.

What we do know is that we are on it together and we can't wait to see what we find along the way! 

And that's exciting!!

Waiting Game

Waiting.  Waiting for the call that will schedule the next step in this adventure.

Two days ago I had an appointment with the chief OB/GYN at a world renowned local hospital, Dr. H.  He was nice.  Straight to the point and nice.  The Mister liked him, so it was good.  He did another ultrasound and compared his findings to those reported by Fertility Clinic A and Fertility Clinic B.  (which reminds me, I should introduce you to Fertility Clinic A and Fertility Clinic B).

George has grown but a couple of centimeters in the past thirteen months.  And he is sitting on top of my ovary (or maybe the fallopian tube and maybe he isn't even attached, we don't really know).  Turns out, due to his size and his location, it is very possible he could torque my ovary which would result in LOTS of pain, emergency surgery and quite possibly losing the ovary all together.  Not a good situation.  The consensus is that he most definitely needs to come out.  And the sooner, the better.

Then there is the fibroid.  Let's call him Fibroid Frank.  Frank has also grown.  He is right up against my uterus.  Dr. H was a little iffy as to whether or not Frank needed to be removed, but later, with a clearer ultrasound, it was suggested that he come out too.  He is pushing on my uterus, which if we have to move to IVF, Frank can't be there.  HOWEVER . . . removing Frank will mean 100% without a doubt, I will need a c-section.  That was not in my plans. That was a devastating turn of events.  Not the end of the world, but not what I wanted to hear.

So now I am waiting.  Waiting to schedule the surgery that will bring us one step closer to the finish line.

Surgery is scary.  I have never gone under for anything before.  I have never been to the hospital for myself.  This is a whole new ball game for me and I am scared.  What if this surgery makes things worse?  What if another cyst takes the place of George?  What if, what if, what if?  I could what if this forever . . .