A New Chapter

It’s CD2 in July, which means I called our clinic to let them know I was ready to come in for a mock FET cycle. Tomorrow I have CD3 blood work drawn and my first of many dildocam dates. We’re trying for an unmedicated single embryo FET, mainly because I am still breastfeeding. I don’t want to abruptly stop nursing V for an as-yet-unconfirmed baby. (Technically, we’ve already conceived, but who knows if an FET will work first, second, or even third time, even with a chromosomally normal embryo.)

Logistically, I’m spending lots of time and even more money to do what comes so naturally to most people. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel jealous about that, but when I hold space with the part of me that is angry that I have a trauma notch on my belt for every step of my path to parenthood, I can recognise that I am fortunate. Chances are, the FET will work first time. And, unlike many of my infertile comrades, the actual Trying To Conceive part is over: we have eight lovely chromosomally normal embryos waiting for us, more than enough chances for a younger sibling. (When our family is complete, we still have 13 eggs to donate to another family.)

But amidst all the unknowns are some knowns.

I know that an FET even with a PGS-tested chromosomally normal embryo doesn’t guarantee a baby. But I am confident it will work, if not the first time, then the second or third time. (Right now, we feel that if I’m not pregnant again within three FETs then we will be content with being a family of three. I know I will be sad, but I know that V is more than enough.)

I know pregnancy means the end of breastfeeding. I am okay with that. I am proud that I have made it to 20 months and still counting (albeit really only for a few minutes in the morning).

I know that even if I get pregnant, it will be considered a high-risk pregnancy even if everything looks normal. I know I will have extra ultrasounds and that if there is even a hint of accreta I will have an MRI.

I know that if I have an MRI that diagnoses placenta accreta, I will have a planned caesarean-hysterectomy. I know that I and my husband will miss the birth of our second child, and I know that between the brain fog of major painkillers and the amnesia I get after a general anaesthetic, I will not remember much of the first two days of my child’s life.

If I don’t have placenta accreta, I know that I will deliver via planned caesarean and I will have my tubes tied. Before I met V, I wasn’t ready to say a permanent goodbye to the possibility — however remote — of a genetic child, so I couldn’t bring myself to having my tubes tied during her birth.

But then I met my daughter, and it didn’t matter how or when she came into the world or whose DNA she shares. I often find myself saying, She’s happy, she’s healthy, and she’s here. That’s all that matters.

V has brought so much light and joy into my life that I know everything will be okay. Although, I do wonder if I am doing wrong by her by possibly bringing a sibling into the mix. Will I miss out on her development? I trust that there is always enough love to go around, but time is something we can’t coax more minutes out of.

But then I look at her and how she plays with her dolls. She is the sweetest little mummy I’ve ever seen: she pats her babies’ backs and pretends to breastfeed them. She sleeps with her favourite doll cuddled in the crook of her elbow. She looks worried when a baby cries and tries to help the caregiver. I think she’d be a good big sister… And then I see myself as a child in her; this tiny woman’s reproductive story has already started, and I practically pray to the gods that she be spared any of the reproductive suffering I’ve endured.

I think about the road ahead and, yes, it’s overwhelming, and, yes, I must focus on today.

Today I have a feeling that the FET will work the first time and that I’ll get to keep my uterus. The way I look at it is this: if I weren’t supposed to have a second child, I would have had a hysterectomy during V’s birth. The fact that I didn’t makes me think, Come on then, let’s take the ole girl out for one last hurrah!

So here I am. Standing on the edge of a new chapter, still holding on tight to my husband. This time, though, there’s another little person beside me, and I run my thumb over the dimples on the back of her hand.