Still Waiting… (Part 3 of 3 in the “A Day in the Life of an IVF Patient’ series)

The wait for our miracles morphed into three years and hundreds of needles, monitoring appointments, a surgery, procedures, negative pregnancy tests, and finally one positive test. We spent what seems like years in waiting and exam rooms, staring at the posters of perfectly posed newborns decorating the walls, trying our best to make jokes and enjoy the time together.

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A Day in the Life of an IVF Patient Part 2: Transfer Day and the TWW 

I feel a sense of hope and excitement wash over me as we make the familiar elevator ride. The waiting room looks like the holiday season sneezed on it. How can I not feel a sense of Christmas magic? Our nurse calls us back after only a few minutes. It’s freezing and it smells. It’s not a bad smell, it’s a clean, sterile, sweet smell I’m tired of smelling. I resent enduring this smell to have a baby, but I know so many others would wear it as perfume for this opportunity. Positive vibes only today. Never give up.

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A Day in the Life of an IVF Patient

I’m not a morning person. If the sun isn’t up, I’m not up – but today I’m a morning person. It’s 6:00 a.m. and I need to be there by 7:00 a.m. It’s the earliest slot they had. I’ve already had my shot of Follistim. I have long sleeves on even though it’s an abnormally warm day for November, even in Texas. No one needs to see the bruised veins on my arm. The last thing I need is for a student or co-worker to notice and wonder what exactly I’ve been up to. What if I over stimulate? Oh, please don’t let that happen. Please let there be follicles. Let there be lots of big, fat, not-too-big follicles today.

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Between Infertility and Alzheimer’s: Standing in the Gap of Motherhood

What does it mean to be a mother? I faced that question as I watched my mother gradually evolve into someone I hardly knew. I was in my early 30s looking forward to becoming a parent when my mother began her slow spiral into Alzheimer’s. At the same time, I experienced my first miscarriage. The next several years brought more miscarriages, and my mother lost the ability to hold onto her memories.

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