"You have a 1-2% chance of conceiving naturally" the doctor says to me, straight into my eyes. I could feel my heart drop to my stomach.
He continues, saying fancy medical terms that very well could have been in a foreign language, statistics and numbers, but my mind fades into anxiety and heart break.
1-2% chance, I repeat in my head over and over.
I turn to K, and he is staring at the doctor, looking as though he is listening and understanding the language the doctor is speaking, knowing he is not, trying to hold back his tears.
"What are our options" I say, voice dry and shaky after a long awkward pause.
The doctor continues to tell us about IVF, and how IUI would not succeed in our case, especially since our first choice is to have biological children.
All this time I thought IVF was for older people who were unable to have children due to their age; boy was I wrong. He told me the number of young couples he has treated, as though he was trying to fix the unfix-able.
Age is in our favor, though. He explained that the younger we are, the higher the success rate is for IVF.
The nurse walks in, takes my blood, and the three of us go over a big binder she brought with her. She flips through the pages, showing us costs, medication, and actual procedures I would be doing, as if she says and does this a hundred times a day.
"Any questions?" she asks, closing the binder.
K and I look at each other, not knowing where to begin.
We leave the office with more paper work we know what to do with, along with a million questions each that just now pop into our heads.
The car ride home was so silent, it was loud.
This was the start of something we never expected.
baby dust,
s.
Comments