DH: Should we take a break until after the holidays?
DH: Seems like we have a lot going on right now.
Me: I don't think we can bank on something happening right away. There will always be something going on. And at 38, I am not getting any younger.
DH: Right. No break, then.
Six months in
Me: Great news! The OB says our chemical pregnancy confirms that everything's working properly. Said it was probably just some fluke-y "bad sperm" or something. Ha! She says to use a fertility monitor and call her with a positive HPT in the next couple of months.
DH: How much does the fertility monitor cost?
Me: It's kind of expensive, but I think it's worth it.
One year in
Me: I'll be traveling during my fertile window this cycle.
DH: We can try before you leave town.
Me: Might as well. Sperm can potentially live up to 5 days.
Two years in
Me: The RE said your sperm is 100% misshapen and most of it dies overnight. He recommends more tests for both of us.
DH: More tests . . . expensive?
Two and a half years in
DH: I need to be gone for 3 weeks next month. When are you ovulating?
Me: You know I can't predict that now.
DH: Could you make up a calendar that outlines the likeliest 2 or 3 scenarios? I can pick travel dates accordingly.
Me: Hokay. Worth a shot.
Two years and seven months in
Me: Whew, we got you home in time. Lucky those long trips don't pop up very often.
DH: Actually, I'm going to be traveling like this for the foreseeable future. That calendar you made . . . can you do one that covers the rest of the year?
Me: Are you serious?
Three and a half years in
RE: My partners won't agree to us cycling you with your eggs unless you're prepared to start in 3 days. You're too old, literally, starting later this month.
DH: You have age criteria . . . explain to me why we've spent thousands of dollars this past year only to be hearing this news TODAY.
RE: I'm sorry. I can have my donor egg coordinator call you Monday. And there are several good adoption agencies in town.
DH: So another $350 for your thoughts, right? We'll leave a check on the way out.
Me (in the car): It's over.
DH: We'll get a second opinion.
Me: It's too late. We wasted too much time with that RE.
DH: We'll keep trying.
Me (later that night): Remember that home-insemination product I told you about? I'm too old for the clinical trial they're doing, but they still need people to give feedback on the instructions.
DH: We can do whatever you want.
Me: You'd get to wear a condom.
DH: Sounds smart. Maybe they're onto something.
Me: It's for collection purposes only.
DH: "Collection purposes." Great.
Four years in
Me: The new RE thinks we have a chance with IVF. Not a great one, but not NO chance.
DH: How much is IVF going to cost at her clinic?
Me: A lot.
DH: We'll do it once. For closure.
Me: Agreed. I'm going to need surgery first.
DH: Let's get moving.
Four and a half years in
Me: That IVF didn't really count.
DH: Why not? It failed. Now we know.
Me: But we didn't retrieve anything and so didn't find out if your sperm and my eggs can make nice. That was the "closure" we were looking for. I think.
DH: What's our savings look like these days?
Me: Smaller than before. But we're okay.
DH: Let me know when I need to be in town.
Four years and seven months in
Me: I got a positive test.
Me: Are you there?
DH: This is good. (More silence)
DH: I'm in the car with some clients. We're heading out to dinner.
Me: Call me later?
DH: Love you.
Four years and ten months in
DH: Well, IVF worked last time, to a degree. Should we try again?
Me: You're asking ME?
Five years and one month in
Me: I just took a test: 2 lines.
DH (barely looking up from organizing his underwear drawer): Okay.
Me (after a 10-second delay): Wow. "Okay"? That's all you've got? Way to feign excitement, sweetie.
DH (trapping me into a hug): Look, I thought we already thought you were pregnant. And it's not like we know how things will go yet.
Me: You're right, it's not like that.
Me (walking to the car after the first ultrasound): If something bad is going to happen, I hope it happens soon.
DH: Sooner is better.
Me: Aren't we the happy parents-to-be.
DH (calling from the road): Still pregnant?
Me: So far. The spotting started up again late today.
DH: Oh no.
Me: It's just brown, but I still hate it.
DH: Can you just lay low tonight?
Me: In a little bit. I'm trying to finish some work first.
DH: I thought you had till the end of the week for that.
Me: I do. I just want to stay ahead of things in case . . .
DH: In case?
Me: In case. I'm working with the same clients as when we miscarried in June, and I'd prefer to not have to share any bad news this time. Last thing I need is a rep as the girl who cries miscarriage every time there's an important deadline.
DH: This has always been an uphill battle. But it ain't over.
Me: I haven't given up. It's hard to visualize success — but I still have hope.
DH: Me too.
Me: Where do you think we get it?
DH: The "stupid" genes I like to think we'll pass on.
Me: Ah, the "stupid" genes. Those are the sweet ones, aren't they? "Hope you got 'em, little baby."
The preceding text constitutes an interpretive paraphrasing of several select real-life conversations DH and I have had since late 2003. Any resemblance to random conversations starring other infertile couples is purely probable.