This morning I woke up to Donald Trump being the President-elect of the USA. I promise not to discuss politics here (at least overtly), except to say that my job often has me deep in the fray. I have been talking to voters for the past two months, and this past weekend I worked long long hours, until the polls closed. To say I was spent and exhausted was an understatement.
So how funny it is that Viking and I dropped our daughter off at school this morning and headed north, over an hour up I-95, to a new clinic. We took the opportunity to schedule a free consult the day after a man was elected who deeply politicized the horror I went through with my TFMR and saying goodbye to Celine. Portraying me and the women who had to make the same heartbreaking decisions as monsters to millions of Americans who are chomping at the bit to call us murderers in public.
What a day. I had to tell my long and painful story twice - first to the youngest physician's assistant ever, then to a new doctor, Dr. N.
Some people on my facebook feeds note their tears today with the outcome of our election. Well, I cried a lot today, in a doctor's office filled with tchotchkes (Dr. N sure has a liking for the home goods aisles at Marshalls).
Four miscarriages. A partial molar pregnancy. One termination for a giant omphalocele. Asherman's Syndrome. MTHFR.
Dr. N was as compassionate as an RE doing the hard sell could be I guess. She offered no guarantees. She understood that we're as skittish as rabbits about miscarrying again and didn't scoff at our desire for PGS, even on embryos from the youngest of eggs.
On a day where there's a palpable question about the future, Viking and I are seriously considering adding to our family.