Tightrope Walking

Tuesday morn, which was our scheduled appt with our RE, Dr. M. (I’ll come up with a cute nickname one of these days), almost didn’t happen. Not because Jerry convinced me we could just talk to her on the phone, but because another catastrophic event had occurred that nearly cost me my sanity.

In some of my past posts, I have mentioned that Jerry and I are building a house. Not just any house. Our this-is-where-I-want-to-die house; our legacy to our child(ren). In April 2004, Jerry and I bought 10 acres of retired farmland just outside of city limits. It’s 100’ above the river valley, and if you have ever been in eastern part of Nebraska, you’d know that 100’ is like Mt. Everest. We then broke ground this August, and to date the walls for the basement and main floor have been framed, so things appear to be moving smoothly…except *dramatic pause* for the porch. We picked a farmhouse floor plan with a wrap-around porch. The step from the porch over the thresh-hold of the house was supposed to be a max 3-4”. Our builder poured the concrete Monday for the porch, and I went and looked at the progress Monday nite. At 4:30 a.m. Tuesday morning I woke up in a sweat. Something wasn’t right about what I had seen. I barely slept from that time until 7:00 a.m. when Jerry awoke. First words out of my mouth as he lay there barely conscious was to ask about the height of the thresh-hold. He remembered 4”. He actually remembered something obscure, so I was buoyed by the thought that our builder would’ve also remembered. By 8:30 a.m., we were heading out of town to make the 2 ½ hr trip to Dr. M’s office, and I was on the phone with the builder. “What’s the height between the porch and thresh-hold?” I asked. “7 inches,” he says. My adrenal gland exploded inside my head, and I handed the phone to Jerry who stuttered his way through the rest of the conversation. “I don’t remember talking about that,” my builder said. “Oh? I kinda’ remember…,” Jerry mumbles unconvincingly. We traded places in the car, as I can no longer drive. I am completely and utterly pissed off and ready to go postal. What you don’t understand is that we eliminated any house plan that did NOT have a walk-around porch. It is one of THE most important aspects of this house. If it had been ANY other part of the house that had the same type of logistical error (ooops, forgot to plumb the house; ooops, the master bedroom is a 5x5 closet), I would’ve barely blinked. How crazy am I? For a split second (or more), I even considered canceling our doctor’s appt. Now, how crazy am I?

Instead, I cried and wailed for a good 20 minutes about a porch. A friggin’ porch, people!

Sooo, we finally make our destination. I’m exhausted. Jerry is…well, Jerry. He remains unfazed by this cataclysmic event. Instead, he calmly tells me there is nothing we can do about it right now and that we should wait until we get back home and talk to the builder. He was so la-ti-da about it. This is same person who goes into a tirade when Max won’t put on his socks. He’s got emotional dyslexia, I’m tellin’ ya’!

…Anyhooble, now to the relative part of my post: we are escorted to Dr. M’s office and she joins us and summarizes our two failed IUIs with this: Ideally, for IUI they would like to see a count of 2M, post-wash. For the first IUI, Jerry’s count was 700K; for the second it was only 300K. How low is that? It’s so low that standard IVF is not recommended. We have been moved to the short-bus, ICSI. Dr. M. discussed our odds mentioning that we have had a relatively problem-free pregnancy in 2001 and that the baby from the miscarriage was lost due to chromosomal anomalies. She discussed the schedule protocol and I have calculated that including the one month of The Pill, we would be looking to do the procedure around the first half of December.

I should be happy, right? We didn’t have to discuss a donor, so Jerry’s happy. We will be paying out of our pocket for all expenses, so the clinic is happy. So why does my heart feel so heavy and as if it will drop into my stomach? It’s because this is IT. This is our Last Chance. The beginning of the end. If we are unsuccessful, there is no way that we can afford to go a second round. If you are lucky enough to have ANY insurance coverage for infertility, count your blessings. I mean it. We have now put all of our eggs into one basket…literally and figuratively, and set me out on a tight-rope that spans the Grand Canyon.

I’m scared, really and truly scared.

As for the house? This morning our builder called to tell us that he will correct his mistake, at no charge. For this I am grateful, but feel guilty for calling him every name in the book, behind his back of course. Now if only fate, karma, kismet, or whatever you want to call it, can give me the same sense of relief, I will know that I haven’t been calling the extra bedroom in the house “the baby’s room” for nothing. Do you think by doing so I am jinxing myself? Have you ever felt that by posting your worst nightmare that you either bring it to life or successfully ward it off?