Oh yes, my evil former infertility clinic.
We lasted three months. Three months of internal ultrasounds with sometimes rough technicians that treated my vagina like it had no nerve endings. Three months of tests that my very kind Ob/Gyn said that I didn't really need. Three months of blood tests that made me feel like I was going to throw up. Have I mentioned that I can't stand the sight of blood (especially my own) and needles scare the living death of me? And a jerky doctor that didn't seem to want to hear that we were not going to undergo IVF, IUI or any other extreme measures. A jerky doctor that told us that adoption was just as risky as IVF. And then proceeded to show us the price list. Selling hope, are we?
Although I sometimes have pangs of panic that leaving the clinic was the wrong idea, I remember how humiliated I felt every time I had to take off my underpants and wrap the white sheet around my mid-section and wait for the ultrasound technician to tell me that she was ready for me. I also remember how angry and grumpy I was every time I had to get the car and drive north to the clinic. I also remember feeling how wrong the clinic was for me.
You see, my hubby and I are practicing Roman Catholics. My brother-in-law is a priest. We both teach at Catholic schools. Any assisted reproduction is a sin, and although I've bent (and broken) Church Law many, many times, I knew that most things going on at the clinic were setting me on a sure path to hell.
My cousin and his wife went through IF for almost thirteen years. They tried IVF and they are both practicing Catholics as well, IVF that resulted in a beautiful little girl. I can completely understand why they went the route that they did. But I also know that the self-loathing that I felt sitting in the waiting room full of hopeful women, waiting to see if this was the month that it would take and how guilty I felt that there are so many babies out there already just waiting for me to take them home as my own.
Deep in my heart I know that if I can't have my own belly baby, that adoption will be the route for us. As my very fertile best friend has said to me, "Pregnancy basically ruins your body. It would be great if you could have your family and not have to get fat!" I honestly believe that she was trying to be sympathetic with that comment.
The question is, how long do we try? Is it my April deadline (my acupuncturist did say six months...)? Is it when we run out of money? Is it the next time I have to pull into a parking lot in an industrial park to have a good cry?
I know that I'm not going to find the answers on my Mental Health Day. I'm actually supposed to be doing work on my course, not blogging and importing songs onto my computer! I guess this is the lack of logic that a diagnosis of "unexplained infertility" brings to a life that has been pretty straightforward.
There's nothing straightforward about this situation. Absolutely nothing.