Arthur and I went to see the RE today to talk about the two remaining embryos we have frozen. The embryos are a discussion for another post, but as we stepped into the clinic, I had this odd sense that I no longer belonged there the way I once had. It reminded me of going back to my alma mater, walking around the campus, seeing the current students going to classes, realizing I was an alumnus now and that era of my life was over.
We sat in the waiting room. A couple came in. They seemed happy, and I watched as they were ushered back in the direction of the ultrasound room and suspected they were here for a pregnancy check. Unless the routine had vastly changed, I knew ultrasounds for follicle counts were done much earlier in the morning. I hope that they got good news.
Eventually, we were ushered back to talk with Dr. E. As we discussed the remaining embryos, it was clear that we were no longer there with that mixture of fear, anticipation, and hope that we had originally come into the clinic carrying four years ago. Instead of trying to begin, we were bringing the journey to an end, working to figure out the last steps.
I’m not nostalgic about IVF or treatment. A few days ago when I went write about a particular experience during my first IVF, I was surprised at how p*ssed I still felt when reliving that memory. I don’t miss the uncertainty, the worry, and the torturous waits for everything from follicle checks to the infamous two-week wait.
I am slightly nostalgic for that nervous but hopeful person I was when I first walked into the clinic.
Many of the times I’ve gone to the clinic, there’s been the sense of doors opening. Of possibilities and plans and fresh starts.
Today, we walked out with all but the last two doors closed behind us.
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