And Now, the Grief

It doesn't meant that being done isn't the right decision.

But boy, am I ever sad today.

Game Over

Thank you for playing.

Now, it's time to go live a different kind of life.

Spot that Symptom! America's Favorite IVF Game Show

Spot that Symptom! America’s Favorite IVF Game Show

ANNOUNCER: It's time once again to play everyone's favorite game show!

AUDIENCE: SPOT! THAT! SYMPTOM!

ANNOUNCER: That's right, it's Spot that Symptom, where the audience tries to guess which of our lucky contestants had a successful embryo transfer and which gets to go on a faaaabulous all-expenses paid vacation to a Zika-rich island, with your host, Chuck Woolery! Chuck?

AUDIENCE: [thunderous applause]

CHUCK: Thanks Marv! And thanks to our sponsor, drugstore brand stool softener. Drugstore brand. For when you can't stand to spend another dime on IVF. Each contestant who appears on Spot that Symptom gets a free lifetime supply of drugstore brand stool softener! All right! Now let's meet our first contestant.

ME: Hi.

ANNOUNCER: Chuck, this is Doodlebug. She's a 41 year old writer and vegetarian from Texas who knows this is really her last shot! Known as the Doodle to her friends, she enjoys sailing, staying at home, and looking deep into an existential childless void.

CHUCK: Thanks Marv! Doodle. May I call you Doodle?

ME: Um. I’d actually prefer Doodleb-

CHUCK: Great. Welcome to the show. So let's see. You made it to two embryos this time. That’s great news. They popped ‘em in, you’ve been sticking yourself with progesterone every night, and you're halfway through the two week wait.

ME: That's right.

CHUCK: And this is your fourth IVF cycle. Whoo, that’s a lot.

ME: Uh huh.

CHUCK: What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever stuck yourself with progesterone?

ME: That’d be in the butt, Chuck.

CHUCK: [looks confused]

ME: Sorry, that was a deep game show cut. Carry on.

CHUCK: Terrific. Are you ready to play?

AUDIENCE: SPOT! THAT! SYMPTOM!

ME: I guess?

CHUCK: Terrific! Now you remember how this works. You describe all the weird and bizarre physical symptoms you’re experiencing even though the clinic has explicitly told you they are all caused by progesterone shots, and you could not possibly be feeling anything this early, even if the transfer was successful, which it most assuredly wasn’t! Then the audience decides if you’re pregnant, or just paranoid. Marv, what did you say she was, 41?

ANNOUNCER: That’s right, Chuck!

CHUCK: [avuncular laughter] Whoa nelly, that’s a doozy! All right. Thirty seconds on the clock. And, let’s play!

AUDIENCE: SPOT! THAT! SYMPTOM!

[ticking]

ME: Um. Okay. Well. I've been sort of crampy. Like unusually crampy this whole time. And I’m in a terrible mood. Like, I want to set everyone I meet on fire with my mind. And I've had the most wracking headaches, even though I’m staying hydrated.

CHUCK: Fifteen seconds.

ME: But there’s this one thing, and it’s kind of awkward.

CHUCK: Ten seconds!

ME: I can’t say it!

CHUCK: Five seconds!

ME: [panicking] I dunno I feel like I smell weird!

[BUZZER]

CHUCK: Judges? Did she make it under the wire? [Touches earpiece] We've got a ruling on this from the judges, and yes! The Doodle made it in the nick of time. Okay, audience! Can you spot Doodle's symptoms? Hit two blue lines on your console for "pregnant," and one blue line for "paranoid." Ready? Go!

AUDIENCE: [excited murmuring]

ME: So what’s the answer?

CHUCK: We’ll get to that, right after these messages!

ME: Wait, you’re not even going to tell-

CHUCK: Thanks for playing!

AUDIENCE: SPOT! THAT! SYMPTOM!

ANNOUNCER: Promotional consideration has been supplied by CVS, for all your specialty mail order pharmacy needs, by Holiday Inn, and by Giblees suits, on route 1 in Peabody Mass. All contestants on Spot that Symptom! receive a complimentary set of baby shower invitations from college classmates with whom they haven’t spoken in five years. Void where prohibited by law.

Avoidance

I've been dodging calls from my mother. I love my mother, but she's starting to have mild memory issues, and as a result phone conversations can sometimes take a surreal or hard to follow turn, which I used to find frustrating, but which I am starting to manage better, albeit slowly. But because of this my mother is in no position to understand what IVF is like, or what it means. She's worried about me, but I don't feel up to doing the emotional labor of making her feel better. I've been focusing on taking care of myself.

Is that selfish? I can't tell. Last January she was in the city for something - I forget what - and wanted to see me. It was her birthday, and we'd planned to go out to dinner. Well of course my egg retrieval wound up being the day before, and I was a mess. She came by the apartment instead - I had to remind her the address, which was frustrating - and all I could do was lie on the couch. I ordered us in Chinese. She was clearly frustrated. And I was frustrated that she couldn't see that I desperately needed someone to be taking care of *me.* My husband was out of town, and the best I could do was take care of myself. I couldn't also do the work of making her have a nice birthday and reassuring her that I was okay. I was sad, in the selfish sad way of children, that her response to seeing me suffering on the couch was to offer to leave and not try to make me feel better. As an adult, I could recognize that she needs me to be okay so badly that she cannot quite process or accept any state of non-okayness from me anymore. But that means that our relationship, from now onward, is going to be one-sided. I will always and forever be okay, or I will lie and say that I am. I will perform what she needs me to be, as she becomes increasingly less okay.

It's only two days after transfer, and I've got some articles I want to read, and more volunteer shifts coming up for my political candidate, and otherwise I will take it easy and try to keep my elderly dog from barking for no reason. But I can't really put off calling my mother.

I just have to make sure I'm ready to pretend to be okay.

Two

Well. Both made it to transfer today.

I deliberately asked them not to hand me the photo. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to know the cell stage. I needed to be as aloof from this experience as possible.

A friend made me a series of videos of sunset over the Atlantic ocean, which I watched in the waiting room. In previous attempts, I have dancing in the waiting room to hip hop or the B-52s, trying to psych myself up. This time I decided to calm myself down.

Calm. Quiet. Even keel.

Now, all there is to do is wait.

Nearing the End

Between my Percocet haze (yes, they gave me drugs this time, fucking finally) they call to tell me that of five eggs retrieved, four were mature, and two fertilized.

So. So much for that three months of DHEA and Ubiquinol for egg quality. Turns out, time will tell, and though my skin looks as tight and smooth as a 28 year old, my body belongs to a 41 year old woman. A 41 year old woman who is - as she always secretly suspected, if she is honest - never going to have children.

Transfer is scheduled, in theory, for Tuesday.

I'm not really sad, is the weird part. Maybe I'm in denial. Or maybe I've already put a lot of emotional energy into this, and my summer of freedom from thinking about this gave me a window into what my life will be when this is no longer something to which I feel I have to give my time.

I'm almost done. I'm almost ready to move on, into the rest of my life.

Detachment

I think I am somewhat alienated from this cycle. The first week went okay, I did my four shots a day, I did my work, L was away and I had the apartment to myself. I walked the dog. I felt calm.

I have four follicles going, which is not a great response. I admit to being disappointed, as all I'd read suggested that this protocol could result in surprise super follicles for ladies in my condition. But I am unusually nonresponsive, it would seem. I am stubborn. This, perhaps, should not come as a surprise.

Now as the fatigue sets in and my midsection has ballooned my mood has lowered accordingly. But with the lowering comes what I hope are the earliest stages of acceptance.

I catch myself thinking, oh, what if we did another cycle with the protocol that got us seven eggs instead of five? And then I ask myself, why? Why would I do that? Do I even want this anymore? I certainly don't want to be treated for this anymore. Do I want a kid?

Do I really?

As I reflected earlier, I have already not had one. I can't ignore how wonderful this summer was, not thinking about any of this. Doing what interests me. Using my body. And, if I'm honest, soon enough I will have a lot more work ahead caring for my parents. That will require travel and physical and emotional energy, and it will go on for a long time. And this time of self-absorption has kept me from building intimacies with my friends' children. That is a loss that I regret. The sooner I can push through this disappointment, the sooner I can get to know the small people in my world, who I can love, and support, and invest in, and not have to discipline or educate or raise.

The truth is, I'm tired. Part of that is where I am in this cycle - the meds make me tired, and uncomfortable, and I'm probably two days away from egg retrieval. But I told myself I wanted to make it to retrieval one more time, and it looks like I'm making it. And that means this is the last time I'm doing this.

I will have done everything in my power to make this happen.

I will be almost free to live my different kind of life and not look back.