Vodka, Infertility, And What-Ifs

Peter and I went to a pool party with friends on Saturday. I packed my bag on the morning of the party, the way I more or less always do for these get-togethers. It included my bathing suit, Pete's bathing suit, my iPod, speakers for my iPod, a change of clothes for later (when the sun goes down and it starts to get chilly), a book, a New Yorker, snacks, and a frozen bottle of Ketel One. All the makings for a great day.

There are no kids at these parties. It's just us, the pseudo-grown-up urban-dwellers, getting out of San Francisco and into sunny San Jose. We sit around and eat and drink and swim and play variations of croquet and yard-volleyball very badly. We listen to music and tell dumb jokes and slather sunblock on each other all day long. In every way, these parties feel like day-long vacations. Great days, indeed.

I have this now. I have adult friends who work and play and who do not have children. I have this because I sought this, after my first attempt at domesticity and wife-ness and motherhood failed spectacularly.

I've said this all before, but perhaps a refresher is in order. I met my ex-husband in college. We got engaged, we graduated, we got careers, we eventually got married. We got a house, we got dogs. We tried to get pregnant. And somewhere in this mix, at the time my mom got sick, I started to look around and go, "Really? I'm 25 and THIS is what my life looks like? This can't be right." I didn't want to get pregnant. I didn't want to have a mortgage. I didn't want to be settled down. I didn't want my mom to be sick.

Of course, I couldn't change that last bit...but I could change everything else. So I did. And I moved to San Francisco almost seven years ago.

Since then, it's been a big ole' guessing game. Lots of trial and error about what I do, actually, want. Lots of trying things on for size. Good and bad relationships, apartments, jobs. Mistakes galore, and heartbreak. Very hard, dark hours. Very bright, shining moments.

I am just a million miles away from where I began.

When I was in Connecticut, my future seemed crystal clear: the map was laid out before my eyes, and it bored me to tears. When I moved to SF, my future was a big question mark. Nothing seemed to fit or make sense, and so I adopted the "Fuck it - who needs a plan? Pour me another cocktail" mentality.

And. But. Well.

It's been a good, fun, vodka-infused run. I have no doubt, in fact, that it will continue to be a good run. It's just that my future has a little bit more shape to it now, and yes -- I can see "settling down" (as it were, and whatever that means in San Francisco) and getting married and having kids. I have taken my time to get to this place, to choose it, to actually want it for personal reasons.

I can see the picture, and it's one I'm pretty certain I want.

Which is why it's so hard to learn that I may be infertile.

* * * * * * *

I never wanted to go down this road. It's scary, and complicated. Google anything having to do with fertility -- say, "FSH" -- and the information overload is immediate. There are a billion stories, people, sites, blogs, discussions about this online and it is nothing short of terrifying to me.

This isn't what I ever wanted to blog about, but how could I not? It's been eating away at me for weeks.

When I first found out that I was a carrier of Fragile-X, my genetic counselor explained that the only real physical side-effect of this was that I am at a higher than average risk for premature ovarian failure. That is not something I wanted to hear at age 32, so I went in for tests.

My bloodwork seemed normal. "You're probably fine," was about the extent of it. And there wasn't much else to be done then, since Pete and I weren't trying to conceive -- I just wanted to know if I'd be able to. The problem with this kind of thing, unfortunately, is that there aren't exactly "warning signs." Your body can just change, your hormones can just shift, and then one day, your ovaries don't work the way they should.

Over the last year, I've taken the occasional ovulation predictor kit and monitored my cycles and from the outset, things continued to seem "probably fine."

Until one day, they didn't.

The month I got my wisdom teeth removed this past spring started it all. My cycle got totally thrown off. This also happened to coincide with my busiest months at work, and since then, my whole body has been out of whack. I got an exam, and everything looked normal. "You're probably just not cycling," the doctor said. So I went back to the fertility people.

My results are questionable. Taken independently, my symptoms could each have a non-awful explanation. (I don't know how much detail is warranted here, or interesting. My estrogen is a little high, but my FSH is good. My cycles being thrown off could be simply related to stress, or could be because my ovaries are starting to, as the doctor said, "peter out." My body could right itself, and return to its regularly scheduled program next month. Or never.)

I will have a totally different set of tests done next cycle, and hopefully they will be more conclusive.

Of course, now I'm scared that I will never have another cycle and that I am done for, for good. Which isn't rational, but is possible, and "possible" is awful. Also, shortened cycles is a sign of pre-menopause, and my cycles have been totally shortened. So on the one hand, I hope my cycle doesn't start for another few days; on the other hand, I repeat: What if I NEVER cycle again?

I am trying not to stress about this too violently, but it's tough. And I have every reason to be worried.

* * * * * *

I don't really know what to do.

It seems totally irresponsible to me to think, "Oh, forget about it. When you and Pete are ready, it'll happen." Because what if it doesn't?

And then there is all the internet noise, loaded with pop-culture beliefs and anecdote. What do you believe? There are thousands of people who will swear to you that your body will become spontaneously fertile if you just...adopt. Cut out alcohol. Cut out sugar. Take up accupuncture. Lose weight. Do yoga. Quit your job and move to Thailand and spend a year meditating. Go on a raw foods diet. Stop eating meat. Eat more meat. Fast for a month.

The list goes on and on.

What about IVF? What about egg donation? What about adoption?

What about I have no idea.

Maybe none of these things will be necessary. But how can I not start thinking about them? What if ths IS my path? What if this IS the road I'm traveling on?

* * * * * *

I have this now. I have adult friends who work and play and who do not have children. I have this because I sought this, after my first attempt at domesticity and wife-ness and motherhood failed spectacularly.

I just always assumed that I'd get another shot at it. That when -- and if -- I wanted to revisit those descriptors (reinterpreted, of course, to suit the new me I've become), I'd be able to.

I don't think I've made a mistake, living this life. I know I'd make a much better mother now than I ever could have been ten years ago. But by waiting, did I lose my opportunity?

By having "this" did I miss my chance at "that"?

Oh, the what-ifs.