Put Up or Shut Up

I’m afraid I’m becoming a bitter infertile.

For more than two years now, all of our doctors have sung a chorus of, “Oh, don’t worry. There’s no good reason why you can’t have genetically related children.” This, despite the PCOS, despite the severe male factor, despite the miscarriage, despite the high levels of DNA fragmentation in what little sperm there is.

And yes, I’m aware that our age is in our favor, and that these are all treatable, and that “if you’re going to have IF issues, those are the issues to have.”

Well, you know what? It’s been almost three years since R and I decided to start our family, and despite there being “no good reason” why we can’t have genetically related children – we don’t.

And, you know what else? I’m sick of men, with their MDs and their biological legacies safely intact, sitting across from me telling me why I should be hopeful as I continue to pad their bank accounts and create track marks on my ass.

It’s easy to say “no worries” when you go home to your children, or go visit your grandchildren on vacation.

What’s brought on this latest snit? I went to a (regular) endocrinologist for the first time last week. Apparently, in addition to the PCOS, I now have low blood sugar and thyroid issues. Oh, goodie.

We went through my history. He held my neck in a chokehold, ordering me to swallow. He pronounced my thyroid as enlarged, which I promptly took to mean that I have a fat neck.

And, as I was leaving, I asked him what course of treatment he’d recommend to induce cycle day 1 every few months so that I don’t add endometrial cancer to the already long list of issues I have.

“Every few months? You’re going to need to be cycling on a monthly basis! You want a baby,” he looked at me, puzzled.

Yes, yes I do. “That’s exactly why we’re adopting,” I responded sweetly, with a saccharin smile.

He looked disappointed. I could see the thought flash in his eyes that we’re giving up too soon.

Well, you know what? Too damn bad. After four canceled IUIs, a miscarriage, four failed IUIs, a gazillion bad test results and years of empty arms, I’m sorry if the choice of how I build MY family disappoints YOU.

And one more thing, for the next MD, DO, PhD or anyone else who goes by the title of “doctor”: Before you even think about spouting off to me a chorus of “no worries, you can still get pregnant”, you’d damn well better be willing to put your money where your mouth is.

Either that, or shut the eff up.