Saturday, November 09, 2013

so scared I can't see straight

So that (see below) was where we were in late June. Now, 4.5 months later, things are in a different place. Not less stressful (does that even happen?) just… different.

Another doctor in a neighboring state agreed to help us. He said our plans seemed “pretty straightforward.” We agreed. He appreciated how “down to earth” we were. Well… we try, we said. So he got us an embryo and that was a whole big thing with genetic testing and paperwork and interviews and ALL the money. Sometimes they dropped a ball & I had to get a bit… firm, but by the time September rolled around, we had 4 lovely frozen kid-sicles.

Around the same time, we got the lawyer to finalize the surrogacy contract with our friend and man… Basically it’s a super complicated document where we agree on every possible hypothetical scenario. After proofing the 3rd version, my optometrist’s predictions of reading glasses in the near future started to make some sense. Sometimes they dropped a ball & I had to get a bit… firm, but it’s done. Finally.

The lawyer WAS very helpful at explaining that, despite the fact that our friend and the kid-sicles live in said neighboring state, OUR state is much friendlier to surrogacy. Better to start & finish the pregnancy in our state. So we found a fertility clinic as close to the state line as possible. That too was also a whole big thing with psych testing and paperwork and interviews and all the REST of the money. Sometimes they dropped a ball & I had to get a bit… firm, but we cleared all their hoops and said they’d work with us.

(Are you sensing a theme? Pick up phone, yell, then send all the money.)

In fact, there have been so many “whole big things” that I probably need to buy more memory for my computer to hold all this paperwork. Just having the embryos shipped from one state to the other was whole big thing (and the shipper would appreciate a pile of money too, thankyouverymuch). All I’m saying is thank god for the Xerox scan/fax/copier at my office. And, needless to say, each step just ate up week after week until now - here we are in early November.

And now my friend is now going through the first transplant cycle. Embryo transfer right after Thanksgiving means pregnancy test right before Christmas. Happy Holidays….?!??? If this doesn’t work, we theoretically have 3 more tries – unless one of the embryos doesn’t defrost well (WTF, BTW? Can they get freezer burn or something?) So I assume by June we’ll either be done or be expecting.

The probability calculations are the stuff of an AP course. If four, mutually exclusive events have a 33% probability of producing a live birth correcting for the likelihood that those statistics are probably off since we’re using high quality embryos and a fertile surrogate, the probability that we’ll have a baby by 2015 is… oh hell, just flip a coin.

Also, it’s not such an easy thing to say, “we’ll keep trying ‘til we’re out of embryos.” It’s MIND-BLOWING how expensive it is to do each transplant. Since there’s no “medical necessity” for surrogacy or adoption (I guess insurance companies will only pay for you to pointlessly keep banging away despite confirmed sterility) this is all out-of-pocket. And last I checked, I didn’t change pants with King Midas. My pockets contain quarters. And thus, we’re using part of my inheritance. It has the indescribable quality of making logical sense and feeling icky every time you have to ask daddy to pay for progesterone for your BFF.

Well, bed made. Now lying in it.

I worry about this transplant not working. A lot. We’ve tried to control for every possible disaster but when biology gets involved, all bets are off. Despite my friend’s incredible gift of her body to carry this baby, there are no assurances the embryos will take. And if it does take, there’s no assurances they’ll hold. Her life is just as chaotic as the next person’s (truth be told – her life is a bit MORE chaotic than average – probably not surprising when a person’s willing to donate her organs for others’ use) and so, in some respects, she’s the only variable we didn’t control. We could’ve gone out and hired a younger, less busy, more ‘yoga-minded’ lady to carry this baby but we didn’t – my friend just volunteered. And it HAS made it easier to be doing this with her. Our long and deep friendship seems to allay all the clinics’ concerns that we’re secretly running a black-market baby-baking ring. But some days it has also made it harder. When her life gets chaotic & I worry she’s too maxed out to jump through all these hoops, I can’t pick up the phone and get “firm” with her. She’s my best friend who’s giving me a massive gift. If I get scared, I can’t talk to my best friend about all the ‘what-if’s’ because she IS all the ‘what-if’s.’

And while I’m getting all these thoughts out on paper, there’s one other terrible, horrible thing I should just say. Once again, it’s all kind of… a hidden struggle. My husband and I are the ones who are affected here: the ones that found out we couldn’t have a kid while dealing with other major health crises, the ones who have spent the last half year navigating the ups and downs of this crazy world of infertility interventions. It’s been, well, hard. But like struggles with mental illness, you’re not supposed to talk about it. (I don’t know WHY. Maybe it has something to do with the tacit recognition that penises exist?) And if (please, please, please) this works, I won’t complain. Promise. But I will not LIKE it that everyone else involved will be the hero of the story: the friend who selflessly donated her body to carry the baby, the parents who reached into their bank accounts to fund this crazy journey, the doctors who used their massive brains to help the poor, poor, couple who couldn’t help themselves.


Except we did. We are. We’re the ones who are trying. And we will never get to talk to anyone (besides this anonymous page) about the enormous amount of courage this has taken every day.

Friday, June 21, 2013

so mad I can't see straight

So lemme tell you about disability. It blows. It blows hard.

So back in good 'ol March of 2008 when we learned we couldn't have kids, we kinda got pretty sad about it. That took a while to deal with. Depression doesn't go away in a day. So we focued on enjoying our new house and each other's company and basically - we table the whole kid discussion completely.

Fast forward to 2010 and we're starting to feel a bit better about life. Maybe we'll adopt, we think. A couple different friends are doing it... but every time we talk to them about it, it sounds SO hard. And let's be honest. We're really tired at this point. It's been a really hard decade and we're just not sure we're up for more and more and more disappointment. We'd really like to have at least one family member that doesn't have a history of abuse or neglect. Them therapy bills - them get spendy. Oh and did I mention that any reputable adoption agency would look at a crazy lady like me and laugh...

But then, in 2011, we realize: hey! You don't have to adopt a fully born person - there's this thing called embryo adoption. It's really much easier legally all the way around. And the added benefit is then my husband and I are on equal terms - neither of us is related to the kid - it's like adoption but with less paperwork! Pop one of them in me and we're good. But, says my husband - can we wait just a year or so? I'm at a really, really, REALLY, important juncture in my career and I don't have 10 seconds of free time to even think about this. 110% of his bandwidth is spoken for. Fine. What's one more year?

And then (because, OF COURSE) the stress of everything just finally reaches some kind of tipping-point-broken-camel's-back straw and I get sick AGAIN. Not crazy in the good 'ol fashioned, just pop some lithium in her and she'll be right as rain again sick. Sick like "we think you might have lymphoma" sick. Turns out I don't have lymphoma or lupus or lyme or any of the other horrible things. I have Chronic Fatigue. What is that, you may ask? Well, there's a whole division of the NIH currently trying to figure that shit out because no one knows. My interpretation: your stress level gets so high your immune system tries to attack itself. Fun times.

OK, so I deal with a year of feeling like I have the flu and finally convince my doctor to get me some Xanax and presto - yet another major hurdle in life cleared. I'm feelin' fine and the husband's major work turning point has been passed with flying colors and it's time to decide what to do. I run into my best friend and she asks "hey, isn't it time to decide what to do?" "Yeah, I say, we're thinking embryo adoption and since I just got stabilized on this medicine, we'll hire a surrogate." "that's crazy - I'll do it!" she said. Done and done.

Except. Except.

Our doctor doesn't want to. He's uncomfortable with no one being the genetic parent. He's worried we might just walk away and abandon the child at the hospital. Although he and my husband are colleagues and we're all neighbors and live in the same town and we typically spend $1000s when our dog gets any kind of boo-boo, we're ethically sketchy to him. Maaaaybe, his team will consider it he says. Maaaaybe if we sign away all rights with the lawyer and agree to take the baby no matter if it has 15 arms and 25 heads, he'll consider it. He'll be in touch he says. Before July 4th because then he has to go to a conference. If he won't do it we can just truck ourselves and our surrogate 3 states away to another place that will. NBD - he doesn't have to buy the plane tickets or get babysitting for my best friend's kids.

Ass.
Hat.

And all of this would be one thing if he were right. But according to our lawyer, he's not. He's dead wrong. The law would make us the legal guardians. He's just squeamish and hidebound and basically, a risk-adverse jerk-ass. Because we have disabilities, we don't get the same basic rights as everyone else.

Cock.
Waffle.

Did I mention we adopted a dog? She's very nice. We like her a lot. She ate a toxic mushroom last week and we spent $800 restoring her to health. But we're the ethically sketchy ones who abandon the helpless at the drop of a hat.

Fuck.
Wad.