My transfer went fine.  The first two they thawed looked "great" according to my doctor and they transferred them.  That’s a relief, I like the idea that we have seven left in case this one … y’know.  The Valium helped a lot.  I’d been having a good feeling, et cetera, sort of bland and positive; but when we walked into the OB ward and I saw my favorite nurse from last time (my ectopic) I started crying.  She was so compassionate when I showed up that day.  Still some grief in me, and why not. 

On the OB ward where I have embryos transferred into me, and fallopian tubes taken out, and stuff, there is a poster in the hospital room with pictures of how the cervix dilates for labor.  There are about eight of them (cervices?) and the littlest one is like a quarter, and the big one is, well, big enough for a baby’s HEAD.  Over the course of five IVFs I have gone from hardly looking at that to this time: my husband and I both studied it, in awed silence, for a long time.  "That’s, uh, big," my husband offered, and I silently concurred.  The funny thing is we have very little time for contemplating this scary yet informative poster because rather than arriving two hours early for my transfer, as we were told the first time, we now roll in at about twenty til.  Put on the gown, get my blood pressure taken, sign the forms and go.

Other than the embryos not surviving the thaw, or me finally succumbing to Speculum Psychosis – "that’s a rusty old eggbeater, I just know it is, get it OUT OF MEEEEEEE" – there wasn’t much that could go wrong, and nothing did.  We didn’t even get the traffic-snarling snow that was promised, although it is now "Day After Tomorrow" cold.

I’ve heard quite a bit of buzz about "The Business of Being Born," a documentary about home birth, that is coming out this week or sometime soon.  I remember years ago reading a book called "The American Way of Birth," that was a similar expose.  The American way is to medicalize birth and teach us that having babies is dangerous, that labor is practically an illness, and the hospital is the only place to be.  I read that book when I was in my twenties when I thought having babies was my destiny, and my right, although I wasn’t that interested in having any for "a while."   

Mm, yeah.  There I was sitting in the OB ward for the 8th time – one egg aspiration, one polypectomy, five transfers and a lap – and I was reminded that now even conception is totally medicalized for me.  I’ve learned that if something can go wrong with me and babymaking, it often does.  I can’t imagine having the confidence to take childbirth back from the medicalization the way that many women can, or would like to.  I’m hopeful that I can have an uncomplicated pregnancy, even at my advanced age; but I’m also hopeful that we’ll conceive twins and that’s kind of a big complication right there.

I’m not sure about seeing this movie.  I think I should, but I think it will also be a celebration of all things natural, "the way God intended them to be," in the realm of birth.  I’m sure I’ll be on the outside looking in. But I’ll try to see it.  There are things I need to know. 

While it’s certainly possible that I could end up with an uncomplicated pregnancy and birth, I don’t know how to hope for such a thing.  My body seems to have forgotten its way, if we ever knew, and right now I don’t know how to trust it again.

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