I want to write THAT post. The one announcing I am pregnant. The one where I do a verbal fist pumping via this blog.
This is not that post. This post is about my trip to the fertility clinic and our consultation. I actually left the clinic laughing. I’ll start by telling you we are seriously blessed to have the health care system we do. Until we are given a plan by the RE, nothing will cost us anything, all investigatory testing is covered by OHIP. When we do get a plan, we have to pay a one time fee of $250, and if we go ahead with IUI or IVF (IVF isn’t an option for us), that is when we’ll have to start paying. All cycle monitoring and preliminary testing is included. Woohoo!
To begin, the Dr. was running an hour late because the patient before us only spoke Ukranian and they were using an iPhone translating app to communicate with each other. WTF right? The image of this woman and my new Dr. trying to talk “baby” through iPhone app made me laugh.
When we finally got in to the consult room, we began by telling him why we were there. He was an older doctor and slightly scattered. He called Xavier a fetus (minus ten points), but tried to find common ground with us by telling us he is one of five kids, but only three are alive (plus three points). Even doctors don’t know how to deal with people with dead babies. He kept making statements like “that’s terrible” and “everyone has a story” (minus two more points). However he never questioned once why we would want to try again (plus one point), or why we were there if I have been pregnant 4 times (plus two points). He is right away being proactive in scheduling us for blood work and I am going for a sono hysterogram (to see if my fibroid is causing a problem), and an HSG (for shits and giggles?). Our loss of Xavier has left us with a distrust of doctors. We held them in such high regard before our loss and now, neither of us can believe what any doctor says or recommends. We second guess them and quite frankly I double check their recommendations on Google anyways. I like that he seems scattered, it means I can push for tests I want done without feeling pushy (I love me a submissive)…
We had already done blood work with our family physician and DH had done an SA, so we went over it a bit with him and he said nothing in the results was remarkable. I mentioned earlier in this post that I had begun taking B12 complex, and apparently it came back normal, which means the hair loss is due to stress. It also means this is not the reason for my funky LP. Overall, he seemed willing to help us get pregnant (plus one point)
From the consult with the RE we landed in another room with a nurse who explained the procedures and when to call (CD 1) to book them. (I am hoping THIS is our month and we are THAT couple who is about go headlong into fertility testing and gets pregnant.) She mentioned DH having to do a SA..he almost JUMPED out of his chair. What? Why? I just did one. The nurse looked and said Oh, OK. I explained to her (and have not explained here) that DH’s SA was quite traumatic. The place was apparently disgusting, uninviting and he would have preferred a gas station bathroom over the place he had to go to for his SA. The nurses face brightened up and looked at him and said “We have two lovely rooms, with comfortable recliners and the the best porn money can buy!” bahahahahahaha…I looked at DH and asked…you sure you don’t want to retake that SA? He turned red and declined. DH is a very quiet, private person. The whole appointment was almost too much for him. When I saw him after work he was very quiet and withdrawn. I knew why, but I also knew he needed time to work through all of this. He is still mourning his son, and still not ready, and I think he thinks that by trying again he is “moving on”, so going to the Fertility Clinic was a bit much for him (plus 2000 points for D).
I left there with a feeling of accomplishment. I felt like, getting pregnant again might actually be a possibility. We are in the throws of ovulation right now, but like always, I am never confident that I actually am going to ovulate, so I am excited about getting to the cycle monitoring phase of my next cycle. All and all, I left with hope. Which it good.
November 10 marked 13 months since we held our sweet baby boy. Since we touched his soft skin and kissed his sweet lips. I had a bit of a break down in the shower this week. I told him I missed him, and that I loved him. I am not sure why I talk to him there. It might be the steam and the hot water and that I get lulled into a dream like state as I stand in the heat. Whenever I am doing something that I know would be difficult doing with a one year old, like Friday night soccer practices in the cold or grocery shopping or even just standing and talking with parents at the field, I am reminded that I should not have it this easy. Xavier should be fussing or we should be at home and he asleep in his crib. What has surprised me the most in my grief journey is that my love for him has not wavered. Not one bit. I assumed it would fade away. I had no way of knowing that I would love and miss him so fiercely every single day. That I would think about him so often. That my memory of him would sit on the edge of every other thought that runs through my mind.
On his thirteen month birthday I cried. I began to think of the phone call I received while I was in the hopital waiting to hear of his prognosis. I have thought and re-thought my reaction. Why didn’t I allow him to go longer on ventilation? Why didn’t I ask more questions about how he could be saved? Should I have advocated more for him? Would he have been that miracle kid that comes out of these things unscathed? At about the six month mark I began googling things like “Stage three HIE” and “Severe HIE prognosis”. I found a group of parents on a forum who all waited to see what would happen and their children are alive. While it’s clear from Xavier’s post mortem that his vital organs were beginning to deteriorate, I read on this forum that the first 72 hours are the worst, and thereafter babies begin to get “better”. We did not wait 72 hours. We didn’t even wait 24 hours before extubating him. WHAT did we do? Did we make the right choices? Why was I so quick to say remove the ventilator? They used words like gross mental retardation, wheel chairs, vegetative state etc.. etc.. but what if they were wrong? What if I didn’t give him the chance? What if they had cooled his wee head enough right from the beginning and he just needed time? I didn’t give that time, and I constantly feel like I failed him for that. That I failed M and Djr. from having their brother in their lives, but then I begin to think that maybe I saved Xavier from a life I see everyday, from being a shell of a boy, and alive because the mechanics of his body are stronger than his disabled brain. I am in a constant state of conflict over this. I don’t know…I have a lot of regrets over not asking more questions, but I had trust and faith in the medical profession at that point in my life. It circles around in my head everyday that maybe we didn’t do the right thing for him
I am sorry baby boy if I didn’t do the right thing. I am sorry that maybe we didn’t make the right choice for you. I love you and miss you like crazy. I will never stop loving you with every thing I have inside my heart. Look down on us often, and visit me in my dreams.