Looking forward, with a quick look back

It's not often that I look backward. I'm more the kind of gal who assesses what needs to be done in the future and concentrates her efforts there. I find that waffling over what-ifs really only leads to melancholy. So when I last wrote, months and months and months ago, I was focused on moving ahead. I was attempting to overcome disappointment and a whole menagerie of emotions so we could focus on what was next.

That was until our Reproductive Endocrinologist called; that sorta-famous doctor from another state, who's now even more well known because he helped a reality star discover her breast cancer in the midst of infertility treatment. It's a rare thing to get a call from this doctor, so when he calls, you kinda have to listen.

When you're world-renowned, I think getting an ego comes with the territory. And this doc thought we'd be a slam-dunk case. An effortless boost to the clinic's (already) impressive success rates. So when our first round of IVF failed, I think it hurt his ego. Perhaps even pissed him off a little? So while The Banker and I were moving on, this doc wanted us to put on the breaks. He wanted to try again, only this time he would use an entirely different protocol--one that would hopefully keep me from hyper-stimulating while simultaneously being gentler on my body.

I told him we'd think about it. And then we sat on his offer for a few weeks. He'd dangled this giant, glittering carrot in front of us, causing me to rethink our future plans. I dreaded the thought of months of hormone injections. I feared the cost to my body and my longterm health. Our bank account could only handle one more large expense--and if IVF failed again we'd have to borrow money for the exorbitant cost of adoption. It was a decision that quite literally made me sick with nerves.

Still, I told The Banker that I didn't know if I could ignore this opportunity and move forward without having severe doubts, without suffering from huge what-ifs that would swallow me whole. Never one to push me, I think he was relieved by my decision. We would try again.

So in July, The Banker and I left Boo with our families and traveled to the clinic. I stuck to a strict diet of no sugar, no white flour, no alcohol. I religiously saw the acupuncturist. I injected day after day until my stomach turned the most amusing shades of green, purple, and blue. And the clinic was able to retrieve a good number of healthy eggs, which then went to the lab to grow into embryos while we returned home.

And waited.

And waited some more, wondering if these embryos, like our last ones, would fall apart.

When the lab called with the good news--healthy embryos, Grade A for transfer--I was numb. Until the tears came. And then the sneaky paralyzing doubt, because there was still so much left in our journey.

So we took a vacation, both mentally and physically. We recognized that the past few years had been hard on all of us, and that Boo's love of princesses and all things Disney could be fleeting. So along with my parents (and THANKS to my parents, who offered the trip as our Christmas gift), we all headed to Orlando in September with one agenda in mind: Blow a 4-year-old's mind. Needless to say, between the Bibbido Bobbido Boutique, lunch with the princesses, and the amazing magic that only Disney can provide, Becca was in heaven. She literally shook with excitement as she waited to meet Mickey, Minnie, and all her beloved princesses. So often her excitement, joy, and wonder would make me smile until tears crept up. It was an amazing vacation and helped steel The Banker and me for our return to the clinic the next month.

Leaving Becca once again with our family, we returned to the clinic for the IVF transfer in October, three days after my birthday. What followed were a few very long days of achingly dull bed rest in a hotel room. Then upon our return there was a strict regimen to follow: no lifting anything over 5 pounds, no exercise, rest often, and try not to stress.

Try not to stress! This is awesome advice, akin to "don't breathe." But I stayed busy--while trying so hard not to overdo it--and waited for the days to pass so I could take the blood test to determine whether this gamble had paid off.

Thankfully, as the sky-high HCG test results practically screamed--we'd been very, very successful. To the blessed tune of TWO little babies. Holy cow, TWINS.

Not that The Banker and I quite believed it as first. After so many years of disappointment, it took a little bit of time to accept that we'd finally found what we'd been working and praying so hard for--and then some!

I'm battling through the end of a bumpy first trimester, complete with violent sickness, headaches, a few complications, and sporadic bed rest. It hasn't been an easy ride, but it's one I'm not taking for granted. After the holidays, we'll begin to cautiously gear up for the drastic changes that will be coming our way this June, give or take. But in the meantime we'll be taking the time to celebrate all our blessings this year, because they've come to us two-fold.