That is the near constant question. I know that I’ve never ever said this before, but this shit is hard. There are so many angles, and that’s just considering me. Factor in G, too and there’s about a bazillion freaking things to account for. Of course, that’s even before the children are factored in. It is a little brain explosion inducing. By that I mean, “holy fuck, my head is going to pop from the pressure.”
My main debate right now is whether to use up my Clomid and Femara prescriptions before moving on. I still have three cycles worth of drugs left on valid prescriptions awaiting refills at the pharmacy. Ovidrel is an agent on Satan, so while I have valid Ovidrel refills, it’s not weighing on me quite as much. Coincidentally, I also have three refills left on my Metformin script. Now, obviously, the drugs are only part of the equation. There’s also the cycle monitoring. I am inclined to use up my med’s without doing the monitoring. My best response was 4 follies and it felt like my ovaries were going to pop. I’m not worried about having 38 follies and not knowing. I’m not worried about having a cyst and not knowing (again, four follies = pain, anything more than that, I’ll know). I am worried about the stress and roller coaster of emotion associated with the monitoring ultrasounds.
On the other hand… getting pregnant isn’t THAT hard with the drugs. The hard part is STAYING pregnant. I suppose we’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. What we do know is that G does not want to go to anymore first trimester ultrasounds. He says that he can’t stand seeing the heartbeat and then not again.
Which leads me to, why take the chance? Why not just give up now? It’s not like it’s the end of the world if that Clomid script expires anyway, Clomid is cheap and easy to get on the net… Not that I’d do that, I’d go back to my RE and discuss protocol etc… just saying it’s not like a Clomid script is gold or anything. But, why even bother with one? My womb is a death trap. Why subject another baby to the womb of doom?
Because I WANT a baby. I want to feel it inside of me. I want to nourish it with food my body made specially for it. I want that physical bond that isn’t just between me and the baby, but that is also between me and G. I want to see my husband when I look into my baby’s eyes. I want to see my Papaw in my kids. I want to be able to compare foreheads and chins and teeth. I want the C’s to see themselves and their family in their cousins. I don’t need any of that. But, I want it.
I need to hear a child call me Mommy. I need to have a family. I need to be needed. I need to be loved. Ultimately, if those things are achieved, it won’t be the end of the world if those children don’t have G’s freckles or my eyes. But that doesn’t stop me wanting them. That doesn’t stop me feeling like I’m compromising. Like I’m losing someone I love.
So, I’m waffling on the fence. Keep trying, take the chance of losing, again, or move forward. I’m never going to hear my children call me Mommy if they all die. At some point there has to be a line, I just don’t know if I’m ready to draw it just yet.