I’m done. I’m done jumping through hoops. I’m done being treated as a fucking number. It should not be this hard to do something I already did… successfully.
Several weeks ago, I jumped through another hoop — an anesthetic consult. A consult where the anesthesiologist asked me “what’s IVF?”. (Granted she knew what In Vitro Fertilization was but I guess didn’t know the letters… wtf?!). She proceeded to ask me a bunch of health questions and then gave me her royal blessing — all the time questioning why the hell I was there. Lady, I wish I knew. So we went back to the clinic last Thursday, prepared to start a timeline, to get the train rolling. Of course, like it always does, the train came to a screeching halt. I’m still about 10lbs away from where they (initially) wanted me but I figured I could at least get myself on birth control and commit to crash dieting the last 10lbs. Nope. No go. Oh.. and we actually want you to lose 10 more than that.
We’re done here. I’m done with this craziness.
Keep in mind.. all of this to do EXACTLY what I’ve done before. I begged, I pleaded, I sobbed. I agreed to do the retrieval without drugs. They wouldn’t budge. I told them that my mental health is more important than this madness.
And then they walked us out the back door because I was a sobbing, nearly-hyperventilating mess. The back fucking door.
I got into the car and proceeded to have a complete meltdown — like the kind with screaming and hitting things. And then I promptly (like in my car in the parking lot of the clinic) called my favourite nurse at the old clinic and begged him to help me. And he did. And I remembered why I missed them — because they care, they genuinely care. He listened to my concerns about our last IVF cycle and gave answers that made sense. He supported the ridiculousness of the new clinic in a professional way. And then he moved nothing short of heaven and earth to get us an appointment for August 1st to meet with Dr. M to discuss things. He said we could come back to them if we wanted to. And we do. Because at the end of the day, they helped us bring Abby into this world. And that’s all that really matters.
For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe a little. This weight loss stuff is making me crazy.. and it’s a pretty short trip. I have been doing all the right things (okay, I could walk more) but the weight is stagnating. I’ll lose a few pounds, then next week, they are back. And more than that, I’m beating myself up. My feelings of self-worth are all but completely used up. If I ate a cookie, I’d chide myself for being completely unworthy of being a mother. I know there are people out there judging me… 20lbs? Come on! But it feels like an insurmountable task to me right now. I’m just tired of fighting for every damn thing. It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other most days. I need to move forward. Do you know, my husband said to me the other day “I can’t wait until this part of our life is over”. Isn’t that awful? Wishing away good, healthy years because they are almost too painful to bear. Infertility is sucking us dry. It’s damaging our souls and our relationship.
I don’t know why I feel like I need to explain it to you… maybe because I need to quiet that inner voice that keeps telling me I’m not good enough because I can’t even lose 20lbs! It’s wrong to feel this way. It’s wrong to feel like dying after leaving the clinic. And that’s what gave me the courage to walk out the door and stop the madness. I needed to be treated like a human being. I needed to be evaluated on my overall health, not a number on a fucking chart that isn’t even a decent measure of health. The stupid doctor (overwhelmed by my outpouring of emotion, no doubt) wanted me to take the BMI chart home. I said to him “I know I’m fat, I don’t need your fucking chart”. Oh yeah… all class, gone out the window when I’m upset.
I know that they will treat me the way I need to be treated at our old clinic. It feels good to be going home again.