Thursday night we received the results of our PGS testing.
“Of the 5 embryos that were tested, 1 came back PGS normal.”
My coordinator had the awful job of sharing this news with me, something I’m sure is equivalent to the worst part of her responsibilities. She was kind even though the words took my breath away; each spoken with softness and apology.
I cried a lot that day. I sent a couple of emails to various people at MCRM. I wanted answers they could partially provide, but mostly I wanted to know why.
Why even with testing and best guesses and a team of medical experts we couldn’t get it right. Why my body decided to reject what I was offering it. Why only 1 of my babies made it through the testing.
Why all of this was so, so hard.
I sat on those questions and cried and cried and cried. I sent boundary-setting text messages to people who were waiting to hear the news:
I have to do another retrieval; only one passed the genetic screening. I don’t want to talk about it so if you could just let everyone know, I’d appreciate it. I’ll let you know more when I’m ready.
So, I guess I’m ready now.
I’m ready to remember having one come back healthy is still less heartbreaking than having none. I’m ready to say that – yes – it’s scary as hell to think about another retrieval, but it’s also terrifying to think about giving up. I’m ready to recognize I’m closer to my “I’ve had enough” departure from this journey, but I’m also closer to my “I have more to give, more to chase; I have more fight,” too.
See, that’s the thing about this journey that those of us sitting around the bonfire had in common.
Yes, we’d each seen our own disappointment and, if you look at what the other has gone through, you might shake your head and question if you’d be able to handle going through what they had. We each, at one point or another, questioned whether we had the fight left to endure, and we all sat there to tell our stories, not with hatred or resentment as the backbone of our voices but – instead – with conviction and courage.
And we also realized that sometimes we don’t have the answer to our whys. Sometimes our whys just don’t make sense.
Sometimes IVF just doesn’t make sense.
I dreaded going to the event, in truth, because I was afraid I’d be sensitive to all the kids squealing and running around. I worked really hard to check in with myself and make sure it wasn’t too soon to go and I’d given myself plenty of time to work through the “ugly” emotions. So when I came to the conclusion I could do this and it would be good for us to get out of the house, I had no expectation of what the night might bring.
But I’m so glad we went, because it solidified what my internal warrior was already whispering:
You’re going to do another retrieval before you transfer.
That was it for me. Their strength transferred to me through the therapeutic sounds of ‘Yeah, me too,’ and a complete and total 360 turn back to the beginning with conviction and courage.
I don’t want to cry anymore.
I want to fight.
For previous episodes of, “Yeah ME, too” click here.
About Lindsay Fischer & Her Books
Lindsay Fischer was once a high school English teacher with dreams stretching far outside the classroom. Lindsay has faced numerous turmoils and pitfalls in her life and today’s revolve around the dream of becoming a loving mother. Lindsay’s two books, The House on Sunset and The Two Week Wait Challenge: A Sassy Girl’s Guide to Surviving the TWW both provide self-help advice for how others can battle through as has Lindsay.]]>