Excerpt from Journey to the Center of the Uterus...the fertile memoir

Journey to the Center of the Uterus
A Fertile Memoir
(Of Infertility)


By Kathleen Puls Andrade 


Introduction

To find out bad news at this point is fairly routine.  I got a call from the IVF nurse telling me that my lining had declined and went from a 4.5 to a 3.6.  Seems as if my uterus has said "That's it!  I've had enough of this abuse!  Put me away...forever!"

So now I'm going off my estrogen yet again but maybe the good thing is that I won't be so obsessed with food, which is a stress response, or at least I hope it is.

I'm tempted to cry but, honestly, my emotions are fairly blunted by now.  I'm starting to get pretty tired of doing this.  I'm looking at younger women and realizing that "I'm just...old!"

We wait for Dr. C to call and tell us what to do.

Pep thinks that we should just "put in the remaining runts" and see what happens.  That's what we call our embryos...the runts.  According to Dr. C, the last surviving embryos in a cycle are usually the runts of the litter because they implant the best embryos first.  The runts can be viable...but probably not in my tiny, peanut sized uterus.  Apparently I have an infantile uterus, which is about the size of an over roasted cashew.  An outdated term according to Dr. C, but accurate nonetheless.

But apparently...even the infantile uteruses expand.  Interesting.

I start looking online to find out why the uterine lining declines.  The Internet is a font of information, misleading and otherwise and...Ah ha!  Uterine Cancer!  Oh my God I have Uterine Cancer!!  I'm a prime candidate!  I have ovulation problems, I'm taking lots of estrogen so I must have unopposed estrogen, no pregnancies...I'm obese...though not in a humongous way (although there would be some who would debate me on that...like...myself...) And I eat a Western diet!  (Which would make anyone obese.)  So...I'm F'd!  Damn you Wikipedia!

I'm starting to panic a little and realize that I am working myself into a frenzy and that I don't have cancer and that I should really stop looking things up on the web.  I sigh.

I'm tempted to be self-indulgent and feel sorry for myself but I can't because I'm pretty numb to all of this.  My husband, however, always has room for more hope and for yet another plan and I blanch when I hear those plans because I'm really almost over this...but there's a part of me that wants to try something else.  That's why this whole process is so seductive.  There's always one more procedure, one more plan, one more strategy that dredges up hope...again...from the emotional dregs. 

Everyone tells me to be optimistic but I really can't be anything other than pragmatic.

"It is what it is" I keep telling everyone.

"It is what it is."