Today I received a phone call. The phone call. I’d been expected the used car salesman to ring me up and name his offer on our car. This morning we stopped by the lot, and having checked it over he said, “yes we’re interested in your car, but I need to talk with the boss about pricing. Leave your mobile number with me.” Which we happily did, meaning that today I carried my mobile on my person, whereas normally it’s left in my purse in the back office as I work in the library.
But today it was on me. And when it rang, I nipped into the back to answer it away from the students. Good thing for that because twenty seconds later I was in tears.
Results are in. They’re not great. My eggs are quite depleted with .7 pmol/L (or something like that, I’ve only heard the results, not seen the paper detailing the anti mullerian hormone (AMH) test results). The nurse said she was so sorry to deliver bad news, but the consultant thinks my best option for the future would be egg donation. Meaning, not my eggs.
Good on the .7 for hanging in there, even if that basically classifies me as ‘barren’ – it’s better than zero. “You just need one,” said both my husband and mother.
Anyhow – cue the tears, hang up the phone, start the profanity (a kind of medicine not recommended by professionals, but definitely recommended by me). Quiet utterances of ‘fuck’ interspersed with sobs of disappointment. My poor boss opened the door during the phone conversation and saw that look on my face (the ‘ugly cry’ look of uncontrolled emotion), but he handled things very well. After I sucked up my outburst just long enough to fill him in, again rose the tears and he was a great comfort. Poor fellow! It was my last day working with him, and the Avenue has been such a wonderful experience – leaving on a tearful note really does not represent my time within the library. It’s been all laughs and conversation (plus diligent work habits), even during the chemo months the library has been a place of refuge.
But he responded quite well. Didn’t try to fix anything, just let me go home for a private cry.
And then there was my husband. I called him up thinking ‘can’t share this news over the phone, must relate in person’ so just said: “I don’t feel well and need you to pick me up. Like right now, please.” So he came – but not before running around the flat to change his stained t-shirt and throw on some jeans instead of sweat pants. He thought we were going to the hospital! And when he arrived (I had decided to sit on the ground while waiting, which probably increased his worries), he jumped out of the car, and again I broke into a fit of tears –
“I got the results and they say I can’t have children.”
You should have seen his relief! Relief. I wasn’t sick, we didn’t need to go to the hospital. Considering the panic situations that’d been running through his mind, things were okay.
“That’s fine, we’ll be fine.” And he let me cry a little more.
And we will be fine. Today I’m grieving the loss of those eggs. Ever since flipping through Zsolt’s baby album I imagined having my own little big-headed baby, and now – well, we’ll see. Unlike a cancer diagnosis, I am not filled with fear. Sadness, yes, because there has been a loss. This is a loss. But no fear – instead there’s hope. There are options, there are possibilities, there are opportunities. And when we’re ready, we’ll see what can be done.
For now, I’m grieving. For today. Maybe again a little later. But Zsolt and I both feel that things will be okay. We want a family, so we’ll get a family (Hello! We already are a family, but children would be a wonderful gift).
And until then, there will be adventures. Moving to Canada, trips around the world, chasing careers, getting involved, making a difference, enjoying life. With every year – every bloom of the roses – I’m reminded that things are always beginning, always full of opportunity.
In time we’ll grow our family. For now, we’ll grow ourselves.
12 thoughts on “Fertility AMH results”
I admire so much how you turned your outlook into a positive one by the end of your entry. I agree with your mom and dad-it only takes one egg. Your body still needs time to heal. A woman with strength and determination like you will have what she wants. Take care and God bless.
Thank you Christine – I really appreciate your message.
Really sorry to hear your news today. The sense of loss of something intangible like fertility can be huge, you have my entire sympathies and strength eminating from this message!
You have so many opportunities coming up (more unknown ones will follow too!) and exciting adventures – go forth and enjoy! 🙂
Hi Louise, Thanks for the message. Opportunities are indeed coming (for both of us), I’m doing my best to embrace them.
This is one of those things so personal it is hard to say anything of comfort or support without sounding too Hallmarkish.
Here goes: many friends have been through their own childbearing journies everyone different. Some of us who were blessed and had kids did so without knowing the number of eggs or sperm counts of both parties involved being in the normal range or not…it somehow seemed easier..who knows what my numbers were I had MG when I was 43! I am with your mother in the it takes 1 this is really the truth in all of this numbers business.
For me this is one of those it’s in God’s hands moments. Rest, be well. enjoy life and each other and one way or another you will become parents.
Still care, still praying
Thanks so much, Sandie. I appreciate your bite sized story, and you’re right: It just takes one.
I am so sorry about your news! I was hoping that it would have been good news. As for how you are feeling, I hear ya girl! I am pretty much in the same boat – I haven’t had the test but the year before getting breast cancer I have a 12 cm cyst removed from my ovary and was told that I have only one ovary functioning and not at 100%. Then after all the chemo, the gyno pretty much said it would be a miracle if I would be able to conceive. But like it was said – it only takes one. A lot of people have told me that there are alternatives but I don’t know if you are like me – I want to experience the whole thing, but right now I try not to be sad – I look at the positive – I am alive. For now my adorable puppy is my little baby.
I bet it’s a gorgeous puppy. The doctor mentioned egg donation, which is an option that interests me – but frankly it’s too soon to think of such things. I’ll take the summer off before rethinking babies. Sorry to hear you’re in a similar boat with fertility. But you know, there’s no maximum number on miracles – maybe we’ll be both get lucky. But regardless, you’re right – we’re alive, and that IS the most important thing. Thanks for commenting. I appreciate it very much.
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