Last weekend we went to Toy Story 3 as a family. It was our first attempt at a movie with my daughter, and she did very well. We also visited a splash pad, and took a long bike ride (which prompted me to purchase a softer seat. All I can say is: "I'm old." and "Ouch!")
We were able to attend a "Gotcha Party" for a little girl too. I had no idea what this was, but google helped. Adoptive families sometimes celebrate the day their adoptions became final, or the the day they officially "got" their child. It's a great idea, and the party was at the home of some dear friends of ours who really know how to entertain in style. What a fabulous weekend!
Monday brought with it our appointment at the fertility doctor. It's difficult to sum up the feelings I have about it. In the first five minutes, we had discovered my diagnosis. Finally. This diagnosis has never been spoken to me, hinted at, or even attempted until now. It was sureal to hear it after having spent years of my life only knowing that something is wrong, but not knowing what it is. The diagnosis was Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (also known as PCOS). The doctor seemed to feel that I'm a textbook case of PCOS, so I was surprised that no one has ever made this connection before. He never ran any tests or examined me. He simply read the same medical records that have been in front of my doctors for years. I was relieved and angry at the same time.
The doctor went on the explain how PCOS works, and how it affects your life. As I sit here tonight, I still have yet to google it (and I'm amazed at my restraint thus far!), but apparently this syndrome results from a chronic imbalance of hormones. Because these hormones are out of their normal ranges, I don't produce eggs. When I do (usually with the aid of medication), the eggs are poor quality. This can result in a higher chance of birth defects and miscarriage, and they have a medication to help correct this. Huh. That hit me like a brick wall. If this had been diagnosed earlier, I would have had a smaller chance of dealing with something like Triploidy. That thought was pushed out by gratitude to God for giving me a beautiful, healthy daughter. I'm crying as I write this because I am struck again by what an amazing miracle she is. Thank you, God.
The doctor gave us a plan that we are now deciding when and if to enact. He also told me that PCOS brings with it a higher chance at ovarian cancer and elevated risk for developing diabetes. When I'm not trying to conceive, I need to be on the pill for the rest of my childbearing years to keep my hormones in check, and to bring down my chances of cancer to a normal level. I'm upset that I've spent years off the pill adding unecessary risk to my life because my doctors weren't proactive. How could I have known without medical advice? It's counterintuitive to take the pill when you are infertile and trying to conceive for many years! I'm also upset after discovering that the care I was given thus far has been more expensive than the care given by Dr. Super Specialist. It brings home the point that we all need to be our own advocates. We can't trust the doctors to know what to do. We must seek out answers and constantly question the care we are given.
Ironically, with all of the discussion of my reproductive future, I also received a call from the cremation people. I discovered that my son's remains were never scattered as we had directed at the time of his birth. Apprently there was a consent form missing that prevented them from carrying out our wishes. Since we are young and hadn't yet planned for our exits at that time, we didn't know what to do but have him scattered. We certainly couldn't see spending thousands on a service and burial when our son's passing was so personal and his life so brief. We also knew that any future attempts at pregnancy could get expensive quickly. Cremation and scattering of ashes in the cemetary seemed appropriate. For some reason, I'm thinking about changing my mind now that I know he's still here. I have been given another chance to decide, and I wonder if keeping his ashes for a time and scattering them in one of my favorite places might be more appropriate now. My little thimble of ashes costs $50 to ship, so we may have to make a trip to collect his remains if we decide to go that route. I'm just not sure what I want to do. Old feelings feel raw now in the wake of this discovery. Do they have a warehouse of ashes somewhere or what? Strange.
I have a lot to think about.
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