January 2014.
I find myself dragging my feet. It’s taken a few months, but we’ve come to a round-about agreement. We’ll do IVF and we will freeze some little embryos and then we will start trying. The conventional way. We haven’t tried proper, and there’s only a few bloodtests and an expensive doctor telling saying my chances are non-existent.
We sat on the couch one day and talked about logistics, with spreadsheets and numbers and dates and had this vague plan come together into something more concrete. That is The Plan: IVF, and then trying. For a family. For the future.
I’m okay to talk about The Plan and tell people about The Plan without fear or fuss or any justification (though, yesterday as I ran along the river as night fell early, I was grateful for my 6 foot Welsh friend who ran with me. He took the moment to acknowledge its enormity, and say woah, this is a big moment. This is a big thing, this thing you are doing. And I said yes, yes it is. And we ran on).
So, Zee and I have The Plan. And yet I have a week or two out in front of me, the perfect opportunity for all of the things required for actioning The Plan… and I’ve done nothing. I haven’t yet organised an appointment at the fertility clinic. I’m procrastinating, and think about how I want do more research into the ‘right’ clinic and find the ‘best’ one. I’m not quite sure how I’m meant to do that exactly, I think internet reviews work great for restaurants. Probably a bit less for a fertility clinic who will be extracting my eggs from my body and storing them. I’m knee deep in HFEA statistics but I’m really quite overwhelmed.
I’m scared you guys. Time is of the essence (tick, tock and all that) but I’m reluctant to move into the unknown just yet. I don’t feel like I have the luxury of time and yet I don’t want to dive right in.
This cognitive dissonance has me all wound up. I feel like emotionally this is such a huge thing to get my head around. I’m not there yet. Oh infertility.