Tuesday, June 24, 2014


I have spent the past few days in NYC with Niblet, trying to rest and re-charge.  Unfortunately, the best laid plans, yada yada.  I spent far too much time frantically researching "HIGH FSH" and trying to identify doctors who might allow me to move in a direction... somewhere.  Anywhere but donor eggs.  My parents and I talked through all sorts of scenarios, including me trying to go through three consecutive cycles here, a destination for the complicated and/or AMA women out there like me, that happens to be in NYC.  But as kind and incredible as they are, the conversation ultimately left me more stressed out (sadly, all of my conversations with my parents about RPL eventually leave me more stressed out, well-meaning as they are).

When I finally returned home on Sunday I realized I was a wreck.  Husband and I had a conversation about the toll this has taken on me, him, Niblet.  How we have been in this cycle of pregnancy and misery for over two years.  Yes, I should keep pressing on, but given that I am already the bread-winner of our household in a demanding full-time job,  I shouldn't drive myself nuts by trying to make something like cycling out-of-state work.  Yes, it works for some women - and I extend mad props to those women - but I am not one of them. I need my home. 

Tomorrow will be a visit to the kindly Dr. B, something that I hope provides me some "closure" with this clinic.  I have a bajillion questions for her too, including, "Can clomid cycles spike up your FSH?" and "Exactly what IS wrong with my tube, as per Dr. K and my recent HSG?"  I have preemptively scheduled an appointment with my acupuncturist later that evening to decompress.

After that?  Well, I'm not quite sure.  There is a doc in town (in the same medical complex as Dr Cuddles, it turns out) who has something of a reputation for taking the sad-sack-high-fsh-ama cases like mine.  Husband and I agree, he's worth a shot.  I dismissed his clinic earlier due to low success rate stats for my age group -but seeing as I am now among the ranks of the island of misfit toys in fertility-land, I am not in a position to care now, am I.

Ahhh, the joys of baby-making when the task is placed in the hands of the emotionally traumatized. 

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