We have one more IVF cycle paid for by insurance. That will probably start in a month or so. First, I have to let my body heal a little bit. (Read: Get all my drinking in this weekend and pretend it never happened.) My acupuncturist gave me some little tiny bullet-like pills to take to “get rid of stagnation,” so I’m taking those. (I really hate the visual of my insides as a stagnant pool. Does crap – pardon me, NOT crap, that would be gross — just hang out inside of us, never exiting properly? I want to think of my uterus as the Thunderdome not ONLY because that means it’s a terrifying place where only the fittest survive, but also a shiny, gleaming, well-kept death dome. Polished.)
What on earth was I saying.
Oh, right. Yeah. So, I’m going to spend the next few weeks getting once a week bloodwork to make sure my hormones return to the (fuck you) “NOT pregnant” levels (fuck you) and *then* I make everything go dormant again on the birth control pill for about 3 weeks. During this time, we’ll meet again with the reproductive endocrinologist (aka The Fertility Doctor) who will tell us Very Gloomy Things ™. And then I will start the injections all over again, and sometime in late August or so, I will have another Totally Awesome Embryo Transfer into the Thunderdome, Except This Time Everything Will be Perfect and No, I Am NOT in Denial, Why Do You Ask?
I’m also going to gently beg the dear husband to consider an egg donor. The financials will not be fun. It will cost at least $29,000 if we do a “guaranteed” egg donor program. (That means, if we don’t end up with a live “walk away” baby, we get our money back! It’s like a used car except it talks and poops!)
Do I sound excited?
No, no, really. I am. I’ve always wanted a car that poops.