Everything was about to change

Sitting on the edge of the exam table at the obgyn, I explained to my doctor that we’d been trying to get pregnant for a long time but nothing was happening. That I was getting worried because the clock was ticking on my fertility, and I felt pressure to do something about it. The doctor listened attentively, her hands resting in her lap under the weight of a gorgeous diamond engagement ring. She told me that she could do a few tests and get me started on the process but recommended that because of my age I go straight to a fertility expert. She had someone whom she could refer me to, an excellent doctor who had helped countless patients from her practice.

I began to feel a little shaky and tried to take a deep breath to regulate my heartbeat. I was nervous about what a fertility expert meant. I guessed it meant a battery of tests which would culminate in some horribly invasive procedure. I was scared. And a little ashamed. I couldn’t seem to get pregnant on my own- wasn’t that my responsibility? Wasn’t it something that happens to women all the time? Wasn’t Mother Nature supposed to be looking out for me?

Still, I booked an appointment with the fertility specialist, my heart pounding in my chest. My consultation was scheduled a few weeks after my thirty-sixth birthday. My body was scared and didn’t want to go through with it, but my rational mind said that I needed to push through the fear and at least get the information.  Then I could make a decision.

The fertility doctor was kind and had a million-dollar smile. White-haired, tanned and naturally handsome, he looked like he drove a Tesla. He had a beautiful gold watch and smile wrinkles encircling his eyes. He made me feel instantly comfortable, cared for. In our consultation, he explained that yes, thirty-five really is the age around which female fertility tends to decline, and that I had made the right decision in pursuing fertility testing. There would be an initial set of tests, and from there we would make a data-driven decision about our next steps. It seemed logical, clear and scientific- totally different from the anxiety churning in my stomach, blocking me from clear thought.

A week after the tests, the results were in. My husband was teaching and wasn’t available to join me at the clinic, so I drove to the office alone. My doctor and I sat in leather armchairs on opposing sides of his polished mahogany desk. I gripped the armrests, feeling a little swelling in the back of my throat- pre-emptive sadness rising. The doctor said that unfortunately the tests didn’t point to any specific issue or deficiency, not in me or in my husband. That ultimately, it was likely that my fertility was declining because I was of “advanced maternal age”. He said softly that my best chance was to go straight to IVF. His office had checked with my insurance, and because of my age insurance would pay for it. He paused and said it would be wise to get started right away, and not wait for so much as another menstrual cycle to pass. Time was suddenly incredibly precious, and pressuring.

I felt like the wind had been sucked out of my lungs like a balloon leaking air. The lump in the back of my throat burned as I began to cry quietly, my head down, trying not to let my tears reach his leather chair. I knew enough about IVF to know that it would be an all-consuming and painful journey.  I was so scared of it. Of the needles, of the pain, of the constant doctor appointments, and worst of all, of the potential for none of it to work. I could go through months or even years of medical interventions and never conceive a baby.

The doctor handed me a tissue. I was embarrassed. I was crying while he was delivering me an option, a salvation, a possibility to have a child. He was presenting me with a possible bright future. But I just felt doomed. It was extremely sad to me that I couldn’t just get pregnant like other women could. It felt really unfair. It wasn’t going to be simple to become a mother.

My heart felt knotted up with my guts as I wondered if I wanted to be a mother enough to go through with this. I could probably be fine without ever having children. But my husband- what about my husband? What about our agreement to start a family? He was counting on me. And part of me still wanted to have children. There was so much to untwist and untangle- and the pressure was to decide within weeks whether to proceed or not. It was hard to breathe.

I wiped my tears away and apologized for crying. The doctor encouraged me to talk to my husband, and to think about it. Just not for too long. He looked at me with kindness, maybe with pity.

I thanked him and passed through the waiting area quickly so the receptionists wouldn’t see that I’d been crying. I stepped out of the office into the cold March sunshine. Out there, the world was unchanged. It was the same beautiful day as when I’d entered the office. But inside my body, everything was different. Everything was about to change.