My husband, eternal optimist that he is, tends to use phrases like, “Look on the bright side,” or “but the good thing is….” I usually roll my eyes at these sentiments and find them, at the very least, annoying, and at the worst, completely invalidating of my fears. But I’m trying to do better. Trying.
Here are my positive thoughts for the day:
I can’t deny we’re making progress. At least we’re not going backward. We’re not losing ground, even if the progress is slower than I’d like. Progress is progress.
We’ve already surpassed the best results Hubby was able to achieve with the treatments he got in his early 20s. Back then, the highest his count ever got was 500,000/ml. Not only have we passed that mark, but we’ve done it in record time. All those years ago, it took Hubby two years of almost daily injections to reach half a million.
We didn’t have to wait until next week to get the results. I thought we would, given how this has worked out in the past. The procedure for every SA so far has been that Hubby drops off his swimmers and the lab passes the results onto Dr. K’s office. But Dr. K is only in the office two days a week, and we have to schedule a phone consult with him on one of those two days. This time, because Dr. K has been so busy, we were able to get the results by email. There’s enough waiting in this fucked-up game. Shortening it by even a few days feels like a victory.
Hubby and I have discussed going ahead and scheduling an appointment with Dr. C. We might as well see if we have any options, other than the ones we’ve previously been told about–namely, IVF with ICSI. I don’t know if we’ll ever have enough sperm for IUI, but if there’s even a slight chance, I’d like to get some more information.
And, what I tell myself every time I start a new cycle: I still have time to get in shape before I get pregnant. One of these days, I might actually take myself seriously.
But the waiting is still hard. The yearning still hurts.
Hubby and I watch the series, Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman. There was an episode about the soul, whether or not it exists, whether science can prove it, and what form it might take. One of my favorite stories in that episode was about a man whose wife had died. The idea was that, while she was gone, her soul, her essence, lived on in the memories of her husband. Literally, in his brain. And in their son’s brain. The analogy used in the episode was of the experiences/memories of her life being like pixels in a photograph. The picture becomes less sharp the further removed it is from her living body, but the image, however blurry, remains.
Hubby and I discussed this idea. How long could a memory live on in the mind of another? One generation? Two? I will tell my children stories of my grandmother, who died years before I ever met Hubby. So she will continue to live in them, even though they never met her. So will my mother, who, by the time my children are born, will have been gone at least three years. How many generations would my memory survive?
Achieving immortality is not the point of having children. At least, not the whole point. But having someone–a child–in whom the memories of my mother, grandmother, and me will live on, a child who will carry on Hubby’s and my values, mannerisms, traditions, who will pass them on to their children…there’s something appealing about the idea.
And if that child’s soul already exists somewhere, floating in the ether, my wish is that it would hurry up and come home.