When we decided to get married, we discussed having children. I was only 38 and figured I had plenty o' time. After all, both of my grandmothers were in their forties when my parents were born. The Old Soul wasn't sure he wanted any kids, in fact he had one that he hadn't seen for 10 years. (More drama for another post.)
We discussed, not argued, the pros and cons and whether we should or shouldn't. Unable to come to a consensus and unwilling to make it a deal breaker, we shelved it for my fortieth birthday. We figured we'd see how things were shakin' then and go from there.
It was a strategy that worked out surprisingly well. Our relationship grew and strengthened and when I turned forty, it seemed like kids were the next step. Onward and upward.
I got pregnant in 6 months and we were estatic. Seemed easy as falling off a log. Unfortunately, nature took a course in another direction and I had a very early miscarriage. So early, in fact, that prior to the days of super sensitive pregnancy tests, I would have just thought it was a late period. Intentional procreation puts everything in a different light.
My GNY/fertility specialist said not to worry; it was just nature's way of saying something wasn't right and just keep on trying. The good news is we know you can get pregnant, right? Six months later, I had my first hot flash. Was his face red. NOT. Without apology or empathy, he bluntly sent me off to the REAL local fertility specialist. To his credit, he got me in right away with a really really good specialist who had a very long waiting list.
The Specialist immediately diagnosed two things. One, I had uterine fibroids which need to come out for me to successfully complete a pregnancy and two, I had old eggs which would prevent me from getting safely pregnant in the first place, if at all.
He recommended surgery for the fibroids and egg donation. He wouldn't even take my money otherwise. I had gone to this appointment on my own; my heart sank as I knew The Old Soul was not going to go for egg donation. We had already explored adoption and decided it wasn't for us. I was pretty sure he would see this in the same light.
To my surprise and tentative delight, he was not opposed to the idea and we signed up. First I had to have surgery and recover for at least six months, then find a donor. They had resources and we would pursue that when the time was right.
I had the surgery successfully and made a speedy recovery. We took a whirlwind vacation to Europe, came back and celebrated the holidays, enjoyed a beautiful spring and thus began our joutnry.
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