maybe baby

So, all these months (29, but who's counting?) of trying to get pregnant, we've been assuming it was Beloved with the problem. "The boys," as we refer to them (euphemisms and humor are necessary for surviving infertility) are the wrong shape; or, at least 97% of them are. Technically, we didn't discover this until month 14 or so. And then another 9 months went by before I finally made a doctor appointment to find out what that meant - which, it turned out, was one quick verdict: "You have to do in-vitro fertilization."

Okay. So then we decided to accept this new call, and then it was Christmas, and then I moved to New City and Beloved stayed in Old City to finish the school year. Which means we're in a holding pattern when it comes to pregnancy because, although I guess Beloved and I don't even have to be in the same room (much less in the same bed) in order for me to get pregnant, it would be nice if we were in the same city. Especially if injections, wildly raging hormomes due to medications, and episodic bouts of weeping over Hallmark commercials were to result.

But I figured that I might as well get a second opinion while we're waiting around, and here in New City we have many, many more hospitals and doctors, not to mention fertility specialists, so it seemed like a good plan. When I made my first fertility appointment some nine months ago, it took nearly ten weeks for me to even get in to the office. Here, it only took ten days.

I assumed that my new doctor would most likely agree with the previous diagnosis and advice. After all, when only 3% of the boys are normal, it's not hard to figure out what's going on, right? I just wanted another opinion, and I figured that, having switched insurance plans so that diagnostics would be covered, I had nothing to lose.

Famous last words.

It turns out that the 'girls' have issues of their own. Essentially, I probably have endometriosis, so not being pregnant is as much my body's problem as it is Beloved's. I feel a bit relieved about this, actually. I'm taking it as a good sign that we found and married each other, because at least we're not married to other perfectly normal people and spreading the infertility problem around. And it also turns out that my diagnosis, oddly, could be good news for us: we might be able to get pregnant by dealing surgically with the ovarian cysts, and then trying a few cycles of insemination. And don't underestimate the fact that 'endometriosis' is the magic word for insurance companies - it means they cover everything!

I'm not sure if I feel better now, or slightly worse, or just different - or just unsettled. I had come to terms with the very bleak prediction of "IVF only." I'm still okay with that plan, but the idea that there might be any way around it is definitely a spark of hope. When you're trying to sell one house and buy another and your spouse is trying to find a new job, the potential of paying $500 to get pregnant via insemination versus $15,000 for IVF is a big stinking deal.

It's funny, though, how fragile this hope feels. Real, but fragile (and the person who used that phrase first will definitely understand). But real.