My Leading Man left on a three week vacation to visit his family. I am home alone and while I am sure I will miss him, I am looking forward to some time alone. Going to fill my days with yoga, exercise, writing and friends. Lots of time to myself means lots of time for reflection .
It has been a week of tests culminating in a rather painful one today. Not to bore you all with the details (but isn’t that what this blog is about?), but today’s test was to ensure that WHEN I get pregnant (because I will) my body is able to carry a baby…and after a very uncomfortable procedure it is confirmed that everything is operating effectively. So bring on baby!
Despite a super luxurious masage over the weekend my lower back is hurting. Maybe my monthly visitor is on its way and with it the barrage of tests and “procedures” I need to perform on the path to babyville will begin. Not excited about doctors or hospitals. More excited about decorating a baby room. Thinking tangerine.
It’s not the green pants fault. I should really wear them again. Besides, colored trousers are in fashion. Paired with a black chunky necklace, a black bebe top and my swede heels again and I am ready for a night on the town. Too bad my cousin’s wife ruined it for me by telling me how fertile she was. In the most annoying, high-pitched, extremely dramatic, Bollywood actress accent, she says “The minute we decided to have a baby I became pregnant the veeerrrrryyyyyy same night! I am soooooo fertile! I have to try so hard to not get pregnant.”
Well good for you bitch. That fertility you’re bragging about gave you that big ass too. Don’t hear you bragging about that.
While I am at work the idea of having to undergo fertility treatments hardly crosses my mind. When I come home I can’t help but feel a little less womanly for not being able to conceive naturally. I try not to focus on it. Move on. Doesn’t matter how my children come to me. It matters that they come.
Upon leaving the office I called My Leading Man. I gave him the news about my screwed up FSH levels and he took it all in stride. He said to not worry and this is just a jump-start we need to get ourselves pregnant. There is no way of knowing if my levels were out of whack a few years ago when we got married but I can’t help but wonder if it would have been easier if we tried to have a baby sooner. “No point in thinking that way” says My Leading Man. “Let’s just move forward.”
I knew one day I would write this blog. After all, I have already written The New Indian Bride and The New Indian Wife. It was just a matter of time before I wrote The New Indian Mom. What I didn’t know is that The New Indian Mom would start now and in this way.
It was a Monday afternoon and I was feeling as sassy as ever. I recently started a new job and was invigorated by the work, the clients, the people and the prospects this job was sure to bring. My new shorter, bouncier hair along with my new green straight leg pants (on sale at Nordstroms) paired with a black silk top and black suede high heels also contributed to my sassy demeanor.
I left the office at 3:00 PM to head to the Doctor. At the recommendation of my OB/GYN a few weeks earlier, I was headed to the infertility clinic. Not because I am infertile but because My Leading Man and I had been trying actively for six months to get pregnant. My Ob/GYN suggested some tests and that I visit the Infertility Specialist to see if they could prescribe some medications that could expedite the process.
Initially just the thought of visiting the Infertility Specialist was a bit nerve-wracking. First, I took issue with the name. I am surely not infertile. Not me. I have always had a feeling deep down in my bones that I would be a mother. I will have kids. Two of them. Preferably a boy and a girl. So going to an infertility specialist just sounded wrong. I renamed the doctor I would be seeing a Fertility Specialist. Because I knew all I needed was a little nudge to make me more fertile. Besides, as my OB/GYN assured me as she typed my referral “35 is the new 25! You have nothing to worry about.”
I walk into the
Infertility clinic and it is bright and alive with hopefulness. Much nicer and warmer than the OB/GYN’s office, which is older and the medical assistants meaner and more worn out. I am directed right to the Doctor’s office, where he is seated behind his desk. He shakes my hand, turns to the computer and starts reviewing my recent test results, taking some medical history both for myself and My Leading Man He asks why my husband hasn’t joined me. “Honestly, I hadn’t even thought of bringing him” I tell the Doctor. And why would I? Aren’t you just going to give me some drugs to get this party started?
“Is there a problem with the tests we took recently?” I ask the Doctor tentatively.
“Is it my husband. It must be him.”
Not exactly. Your FSH levels are far outside the range considered normal.
I am surprised, shocked and quickly saddened as the Doctor explains that while I could continue to try each month to conceive naturally I would be facing a bit of an uphill battle due to this imbalance. Instead he proposed a treatment plan he thinks would be the best course of action given my age. I look down. My bright green pants and high heels remind me of how sassy and alive I felt when I walked in and how in this moment at the Doctor’s office hearing this news, I suddenly feel all the sassiness and confidence dissipate like air out of a balloon.
Sixty minutes later I walk out of his office without a trace of the confidence and exuberance I walked in with.
I try to tell myself this is no big deal. Many women go through this. I know I will have children. This is just a road bump on my path to motherhood. And while I don’t like Doctors, drugs, needles and everything else that seems to be in my future, I am not going to let this get me down. Besides, didn’t my OB/GYN tell me 35 is the new 25. Well then this treatment must just be the time machine I need to get me back in my twenties.
It wasn’t easy finding My Leading Man. It sure isn’t easy being married to him. This is just another hiccup that may not be easy to deal with now but in the end, just like marrying My Leading Man, it will be well worth it.
Welcome to The New Indian Mom.