So, our appointment was yesterday.
I will get right to the bad news. There is .01% chance of conceiving naturally. Uterus: definitely bunk.
Good news: He thinks that IVF will be successful.
Bad news: IVF costs roughly 6.9 billion dollars.
Good news: I exaggerate often. It looks as if we only need $16,000. Woot! That’s only $15,999 more than we have!
Overall I would call it a good appointment. The clinic was awesome, which is what I guess I should expect for a place that costs $350.00 just to fill out paperwork. They took a picture of B and I when we came in, it’s so the staff can always put a face to the name. That is nice. They weighed me, almost in front of B. That is not nice. When we saw that they were putting me on the scale, I turned around to him looking something like this:
And he backed up and let them weigh me in peace.
Which would be fine, except later the doctor pointed to the number on his little graph and said that I needed to lose 15 pounds before IVF.
Dude. Aren’t all married couples like this? I mean, does your partner know your weight? Is it just me? I like to live in fantasy world where B doesn’t know that I am overweight. Like contrary to the physical evidence of my shirt being too tight around the middle, he has no idea that I am not ideal weight because he doesn’t know the numbers.
Back to the appointment. What I was dismayed about was how long I have waited to see him. For example, he said that I should have been on birth control pills all this time to control the endometriosis. He said that he would have told me a long time ago that trying naturally and even trying with those horrible fertility drugs was not going to work for me. B and I looked at each other like: so that bloated, weepy, blotchy monster we lived with for 4 months was unnecessary? AWESOME.
Also he said there was no trick that was going to work. What this means for the universe: you can stop suggesting I take cough syrup before we do it. Or that doing it on days 5, 11 and 14 will work. It won’t.
The night before the appointment I got an email from my very first boyfriend telling me that his wife is pregnant. They are older, she didn’t think she could get pregnant, they weren’t sure they wanted kids. They went of the pill, and you guessed it, month one she got pregnant.
Here is the thing. I hate that infertility makes me bitter. I love him; he is an amazing guy that will make an amazing father. He is nothing but kind, he deserves this. I told him all this in the email. I just wish that it wouldn’t have hurt so bad to hear it. I wish I could be happy for him without feeling a rolling in my stomach.
Enough of that, though. The time for self pity is over, I reveled in it for the 24 hours I allotted myself. Now it is time for . . . a stripping job? Oh, it’s all falling into place! Lose weight = look hot = strip = lots of cash = baby.
It’s all about the math, y’all.