All I got to do was tell him that my period was hellish, which he said he tried to warn me about (he did not use the word "hell," which is the only way he could have possibly warned me). Then he told me that the time had come for us to take the next step: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. (My recreation here falls miles short of the anticlimax of the whole appointment.) So I get to come back in two months and get an ultrasound—which is what I thought I was doing during this appointment, but apparently I wasted an hour of everyone's time instead. Then they might decide what to do with my stupid organs. And it will probably be . . . drum roll please . . . NOTHING!
In fact, taking all of these stupid, nauseating medicines is my only recourse against my wildly misbehaving body. The doctor's comfort? I can stop taking any of these meds, because we're not sure they'll really even help.
So the next step is absolutely jack unless I want to get pregnant. Now I get to confess how I really feel about fertility treatments. I have always wanted to have an accidental baby. I will go as far as to say that for my entire marriage, I have been trying for an accidental baby, just more and more intensively over the past year. You know, to the point where I'm using no method of contraception and trying to figure out when I ovulate (which I probably don't ever do).
So that leaves us with the second option of a whole series of progressively more invasive—and, let's face it, gross—procedures. Now, this goes against my accidental baby grain, but that's not all. I really just don't want all of the stress and craziness of trying to get pregnant. Not only does it seem like it would take all the fun out of sex, but I've also seen too many people seriously struggle with all of the disappointment, the stress of trying, and the financial and physical drain. Also, the whole idea just kind of freaks me out.
I may very well end up giving in and trying some of that crap come April. Then I get to experience the reality of big, scary words like laparoscopy, hysterosalpingogram, semenalysis, steroids, and Clomid. After that come all kinds of scary acronyms like IUI, IVF, AI . . . even more gross and expensive.
So it's either the stress of baby soup or endless doses of gigantic pills containing things that may or may not help. Oh yeah, and I'm likely to continue having periods like the one I just had, which ol' doc described as being about a year's worth of periods all stacked up on top of each other.
On the other end of the spectrum, I am hugely pro-adoption. I know it's way harder than raising kids that are genetically yours, but I have felt strongly for a very long time that adoption is not some last resort for having kids, but something I really want to do in my life. But adopting kids is expensive, and Tim's not quite done with school. If he felt the same way I did about adoption, that would be no object, but he'd prefer to try some of the baby soup stuff first. I am willing to compromise, but I'm not yet sure how much.
A part of me feels like putting in an adoption application and getting the whole thing started right now. Another part of me wants to not have kids for another few years so I can enjoy my freedom. Yet another part of me wants to get really fat, pretend I'm pregnant, go buy all kinds of baby stuff, then move and cut off contact with everyone I know in nine months when my fat-baby will be "born" (i.e. I join Jenny Craig). So as you can tell, not all of my parts are thinking clearly, nor are they all entirely sane.
To review, my options are the following:
- Continue swallowing giant misery pills indefinitely (though if I want to have my own kids, doc says I need to do it in the next couple of years)
- Try and cook up some baby soup
- Pressure Tim into adopting kids, which he seems hesitant to do
- Do the fun parts of pregnancy: get really fat and buy baby stuff (just kidding, guys)
- Get another cat
During the hour I cried after my stupid, pointless appointment (yeah, you'd think I'd have gotten used to them by now) I realized that I don't want to do any of them. I mean, I wouldn't mind another cat, but Coco would probably hate it, and I think I'd be jumping the gun on my cat-lady years.
So I have the I don' wannas. I don' wanna keep taking these stupid pills. I don' wanna go through all kinds of fertility crap. I don' wanna pressure Tim into anything, ever. I don' wanna get fat or lose my mind. I don' wanna get another pet. I don' wanna do nothing. And I don' wanna accept the fact that inevitably, I will do one of those things.
So if anybody has some cookies and a few hours to watch chick flicks and cry, I'm down.