I am an avid listener of “This American Life.” I have been for years. I can directly correlate many periods in my life with stories on TAL, and I’m pretty sure The Breakup episode single handedly got me through my significant and super shitty break-up pre-La.
Today I am thinking about this episode. About Plan B.
You need to understand that I never really had a Plan A for my life in general. Unlike a lot of other people (like, for example, my brother and my best friend, The Doctor) I didn’t have my career and life story mapped out. I like to say that I have been cheerfully following the breadcrumbs (to some degree of success) for the last 15 years. I have gone where I felt called, applied for jobs I had no experience with, gotten a couple of degrees in things I can’t really use professionally.
This has worked for me. And if my life looked slightly different, I imagine this might have been my approach to family planning as well. (Just for the record, I don’t mean to sound cavalier about that, although I realize it does.)
But we needed a plan to make this happen. And Plan A happened really easily. The woman I fell in love with had this incredible best friend who was so willing to be our donor. So willing to give us this incredible gift without the compensation of parenthood or cash. La fell in love with BFF before she met me. She knew who her baby’s donor would be before she knew who its other mother would be.
But now we are on to Plan B, or C or D – I’m not entirely sure because I think that’s the point of the This American Life episode, and also of planning in general. Its not like changing trains. Its like slowly slipping off the trail you thought you were on, heading a little bit more south because the smoke is blowing west.
We do have a plan, though. For now. Its not confirmed and there is so much more madness now because there is even less than I can really control. I have to wait for calls back now, for estimated bills and times to plan. I’m not just waiting for time to pass now.
I took a pregnancy test yesterday. It was negative. On my drive home I imagined how lovely it would be to prove this whole load of shit wrong and be pregnant. And don’t you hear those stories all the time? Wouldn’t it be such a precious anecdote.
But no. This morning my temperature fell and the spotting picked up and by now it has become a trickle that is undeniably menses.
So now it really is, for real, on to plan B.
We have decided to go forward with IUI’s using BFF’s sperm. We purchased some recommended supplements (there seems to be disagreement about if this can have any significant impact, but I don’t think its been ruled out) and have him set up to go to the acupuncturist who specializes in fertility. I will be going there too, likely.
We are still waiting to hear back about what the IUI’s might look like. I want to talk to them about medications, success rates, those kinds of things.
I’m going to get an HSG and maybe some additional diagnostics ASAP.
We will try for 3 or 4 months this way. I hope beyond hope we will get pregnant. I hope even more we will get pregnant and carry that pregnancy to term.
I vascillate between feeling good and feeling miserable. In some ways, the plan is not so different than it was before yesterday’s news. But the hope attached to it has shifted. I feel less like a queer couple disadvantaged by our sperm delivery method and more like a very complicated sub fertile triumverate of people. And it just feels fucking hard.
I had a lovely dream this morning. In it, I drove a little go-kart all around, visiting people I loved, who then gave me gifts. At the end of the dream, I was pregnant. This is so obviously ripe with metaphor but what feels most clear now is how happy I was in that dream and the moments just after it faded, and how cranky and morose I am now. The two together, they make me feel mostly just bratty.
Thank you all, for your kind words and consideration, and your words of wisdom or just your opinion. I am grateful for a container for all of this feeling, and for people who get it.