Hyper and Toxic

I've always been a fan of answers. Part of the torturousness of this fertility journey has been the fogginess of it all. It was hard to hear what happened to the baby we lost nearly two years ago, but the answers were helpful.

But for the past eighteen months, it's been all about questions. First (and here is where I come clean with my secrets), about the second miscarriage I had a year ago. I was only 5 or 6 weeks along, but it was still hard. Especially because it happened on Father's Day. I was not able to recover the fetal tissue that I passed at home (and even if I had there is no guarantee that it would have led to answers), so there was no pathology testing. Second, about why I've been unable to get pregnant since then. So many questions.

Well, now we are getting somewhere. And it's been feeling like progress - finding potential problems and, mostly, having doctors pay to attention to me and tell me that I wasn't crazy. I was diagnosed a month or so ago with hyperthyroidism (or thyrotoxicosis) after my initial round of bloodwork.

Yesterday, I met with an endocrinologist who ordered more thyroid tests and said that we would regroup in a couple of weeks to talk about my treatment options. He said that it would take at least 2-3 months to fix the problem, possibly longer depending on what treatment option we choose. And my OB/GYN has told me, and the endocrinologist confirmed today, that it would be best if I didn't get pregnant until this was under control. I'm not even sure I could get pregnant if I wanted to at this point, but I suppose we will not try because of the elevated risk of miscarriage and the other potential problems I could have.

Now it feels like the glimmering light I was starting to see (our reproductive endocrinologist is still doing tests to check for other problems, but his initial recommendation based on our history was that IVF with PGD would be our best bet) feels like it has slipped beyond the horizon again. IVF would mean lots of drugs (including self-injections, and have I mentioned how terrified I am of needles?) and invasive procedures, as well as shelling out tens of thousands of dollars, but with the PGD, our risk of miscarriage would drop to about 5%. Not bad, eh?

But who knows when we will even be able to start an IVF cycle. It sounds like October would be the best-best-case scenario, but it will probably be December or later before my thyroid problem is fixed and I'm given the greenlight to start the actual IVF process. By the time we have another baby (assuming we stick to this plan and all goes well), Petunia will probably be six years old and in kindergarten.

As I plod my way through reading The Lord of the Rings series (while also rewatching all three movies in the evenings), I'm starting to identify with the Ringbearer. Not that I carry a great power, but sometimes it feels like my body is carrying unknown evil that is slowly taking me. Maybe if I start calling my endocrinologist (whom I did not care for) Gollum and my RE (whom I did) Samwise Gamee, it will at least make the whole stupid infertility bullshit more fun.

The Serious Questions

Verbose from the time her little mouth could form intelligible words, Petunia spends her days asking questions. If Basil and I had a nickel for every expectant 'Mama?', 'Daddy?' or 'Why?' that we had heard in the three-plus years she's been talking, I'd be writing from our summer home right now.

The other night, Petunia caught us off guard by prefacing her question with, 'Daddy, this is a serious question.' As Basil was driving, he and I held our breaths and stole a glance at each other. Petunia continued, 'How did the earth start?' She got a twenty minute discourse from Basil about the big bang theory and evolution and cells and volcanoes and dinosaurs.

And then last night, I was reading her a few select pages from The Train of States and was giving her a little background about South Carolina, as we'll be heading there over Independence Day weekend. She got a thoughtful look on her face and asked if this was the same place that people were fighting at in the movie she saw at the Hall of Presidents in Disney World. I explained that it was and then had to answer a few more questions about the Civil War. Though she never questioned me about what slavery was when I told her that people were fighting about slavery, she did decide that the people who had killed President Lincoln were bad.

Science, history, morals - I didn't think we'd get into this stuff until much later in Petunia's life. She is indeed asking 'the serious questions' now, and it's amazing and sort of overwhelming. I think she's also trying to process death, as our friend from church died last week, a woman that Petunia knew primarily as someone's mom I think the idea of a kid's mom dying is planting some scary ideas in her head, because she has become sort of weepy and clingy whenever I drop her off at school. Last night, I tried to talk to her about my leaving her at school and how it was okay because I always come back, and she got teary-eyed and said, 'But I just love you so much, and I don't want you to go.'

This morning, she seemed a bit worried because I didn't eat breakfast with the family as I usually do. I had to fast this morning before getting fourteen vials of blood drawn (by an incompetent phlebotomist, I might add, who left me with three band-aids on two arms) as part of further fertility testing recommended by our new reproductive endocrinologist. I told Petunia that I had to get some blood drawn as part of a blood test and that I couldn't eat before the test. In doing so, I worried that as Basil and I go through more tests and doctors appointments, Petunia may start to think I am sick. Given the speed at which her brain seems to be churning these days, I may need to proactively sit her down and try to answer the questions that haven't quite formed themselves in her mind.

I should have known that this consciousness was on its way. During our fabulous trip to Disney World, Petunia behaved mostly with the innocence you'd expect from a four-and-a-half year old. She hugged characters, she screamed 'Dreams come true' when Mickey Mouse asked the audience for their help and she got a little frightened at the scariest attractions. But after we were walking away from Mr. and Mrs. Incredible, she said, 'Why they didn't talk to me?' And I shuffled my feet and made up something about how superheroes have to save their voices for crime fighting, and Petunia bought it.

The next time we go to Disney World, the veil will have fallen away a little bit, as it's obvious that the veil is falling away from much of the world for Petunia. Or maybe the world is just coming into view more clearly. I'm certainly proud of the way her mind is growing, and I'm happy to have a little person to really talk with. But it is bittersweet to see her becoming a big kid and starting to lose some of that preschool wonder at everything.

(PS-If I ever start a band, I'm going to name it Incompetent Phlebotomist.)