Also, I should mention that one of my IVF Goddess Friends, when I told her I actually loved my HSG, said, “You better be blogging about this.”
I’m not a numbers girl.
I used to be — I loved math in elementary school, and adored the way my dad would talk numbers, whether it was teaching us about Gogol or how to count to 100 using two hands, and I once turned a crush into a boyfriend by tutoring him in Geometry. And now that I think more about, I am a numbers girl in some circumstances — when it comes to sports, especially baseball, I appreciate the numbers, though in most cases, I think they are useless without the intangibles, without the real men attached.
Anyway. In this context, this bizarre, strange, off-putting world of IVF I’m now swimming in, I’m not a numbers girl.
A year ago, I made a choice. I’d begun wading into the fertility pool, and the water was not right: every phone call with my then-insurance company about the topic made me cry; every talk with my friends who were recent moms made me feel inadequately prepared for motherhood; every conversation with IVF survivors convinced me I wasn’t worthy to go through what they’d endured. At the same time, an agent showed interest in my novel, and I giddily signed a contract, ready to put that baby of mine out into the world.
I had a choice: I could focus on the book, or I could focus on my fertility. I chose the book.
Over the summer, it became clear that the book thing was not working, at least the way we were approaching it. The economy sucked (perhaps you heard?), and no publishers were into buying this new, untested voice. My agent decided he didn’t want to be an agent anymore, and left publishing. My DH lost his job, and our health insurance.
The two, unrelated on the surface, became essentially connected.
When I began studying the different health insurance policies offered by one of my (many) part-time jobs, I immediately spotted my new favorite phrase: “IVF, 100% coverage.” Jeff the agent cut his ties with me, I lost my novel’s champion, but as that dream slipped to the backburner, a new one came forward.
This year’s choice: I had enough time & energy (see: unemployed DH, several jobs) to devote to one of two things done correctly — fertility or book. This time, I chose fertility.
I am admitting this right now: numbers terrify me. I’ve read a lot of them — success rates, follicle sizes, eggs produced, sperm counts, mgs & ius — and I’ve processed them, I promise you. But I’m not going to talk about them here. I promise you that, too.
I’m a words girl. Even if my novel isn’t going to sell today, this month, next year, I believe that it will –someday. When I have the time & effort to find a new agent, or revise, or whatever it is I need to do.
But now, it’s not the book’s turn. It’s sportsbaby’s.
So here, I’ll chronicle my experiences with IVF (& maybe some of DH’s), for people who find comfort in words, too.