Perhaps you have had the experience of having a relationship crack, splinter and fail only to discover that all those sad songs on the radio that normally cause you to grind your teeth are suddenly full of the deepest truths and most perceptive observations. How could you not have noticed that Celine Dion was singing out for you; weaving your pain into her session musicians’ syrupy noodlings?
There is a sort IVF equivalent. Whenever we are in the middle of a treatment cycle, the media seems to go infertility mad. Front page of the Evening Standard (London’s evening paper) last night carried a story about womb transplants. This morning the radio was headlined cheerily with the news that, as I have turned 40, any child we succeed in having is pretty much guaranteed to be autistic. The story hung in the bedroom like a breath of stale air as Penny got up to get herself to her early morning scan.
We have been twice delayed but it looks as if we are ready for egg retrieval and sperm deposit on Thursday (known in our house as “NHS wank day”).
The autism story reminded me that should P, by some miracle, conceive that is only the start of the worries. People we love have lost children through miscarriage; lost children at birth; given birth to children with birth defects that made survival impossible; lost children to illness; lost children to drugs; the permutations of possible tragedy seem endless. Then there are the existential concerns that pepper many of the blogs I read: are they good mothers; are they turning into their own mothers; how do they stop the nastiness of the world seeping under the doors and round the windows to poison the childhoods of those they adore; will their neighbours ever stop complaining about the dog poo?
This will sound odd, but I long for those worries. I want my chance to strive to make sure we have a kid who “turns out alright”. I don’t understimate how the concerns will eat at me. I will oppressed by the thought that my every reaction to my child indicates there is more of my father in me than I can bear, but to hold P’s hand again as she drops the pregnancy test to the bathroom floor and to feel myself brace for what is to come as she starts to sob – the reality of that seems somehow worse now than the worries to come.Â
And I’m sure as an intelligent guy (or at least a lawyer) you looked beyond the scary headlines and saw that your chances had gone up from 0.06% to 0.32% … of course that doesn’t sound as shocking as the ‘six times more likely’ they like to quote in the headlines.
Easy for me to say, of course. Hope it works out for you
DC – So far as I can tell nothing counts as news untiul it has been exaggerated or attributed a false significance. It’s true of how they deal both with hopes and with fears.
I must admit when I heard about that with the autism I thought of you. I’ve got an autistic cousin whose father was over 40 – presumably he helped boost the figures.
Ack, no one really knows what causes autism. Since the study was done in Israel, how do we know whether the results would correlate here?
My dad and stepmum had Boy Brother when he was 50 and she was 37. Boy Brother is a genius but he throws like a girl. You can only do your best when the time comes.
Good luck with it all.
My cousin is also autistic, for no reason that is obvious. There’s also too many parents in the world who aren’t neurotic enough. A pregnant friend of mine at the moment has cut out artificial sweeteners as she read an article that it was bad for the baby, but is still giving her unborn child regular nicotine hits. Aparently the stress-busting powers of malboro are just more than she’s willing to sacrifice.
I really hope you get the chance to fill your life with anxieties and neuroses. If you know what I mean…
I know ancedotes do little whenyou are staring at MIGHTY science but my husband was 48, 52, 54 and 56 at the birth of our children. It wasnt until the last that they sneeked in that bit about increased risk of this and that. I never even thought to worry. Ignorance is bliss.
When I was pregnant I made it a habit to not listen to anything about pregnancy or childbirth. I was as dumb as a post on all the particulars and quite proud of my ignorance. To this day my sister, who is childless, will inform me on something about childbirth that I do not know.
Here’s to success on Thursday and/or the strength to handle whatever may be!
((((((HUGS)))))))
Your desire to skip the sorrow and trials of IVF and go to raising children is absolutely right. Even with all the yammering complaints of those of us in the midst of the oatmeal smears and the angst, rearing children is a soulful wonderful thing. And an experience at which you and P will no doubt excel. So here’s to what may come… may it bring you and P the joy and loveliness you so deserve.
Hope it works out for you this time. Try if you can not to get worried about what can go wrong. If she does get pregnant it will most probably go right.
Best of luck to you and Penny in this cycle.
Wish I didn’t have sympathetic tear ducts… that last sentence set them off again. I’m still rooting for you two – and as the aunt of an autistic child I can tell you that there is no known cause yet. They haven’t been able to determine one cause. And odds are best left at the racetrack. Thinking positive thoughts for you both…
Beatiful post (again!) Moobs. The whole blog-o-sphere roots for you two!!
Yes, you get me every time in the end, Moobs.
Express delivery of positive thoughts flying straight out of Colorado and heading your and P’s way.
at the risk of lowering the tone, I do hope they’ve got some new magazines for you on Thursday.
Good luck – not just with the mags, obviously…
Blimmin’ ‘eck, H – there I was with a heartfelt comment (I think) and you’ve made me forget it. And there’s tea on my monitor again.
Heather – last time I went the copy of “Farmers’ Weekly” with the udder on the front cover had been removed. I’ve been trying to work out whether the most likely explanation is censorship by the Hospital or that someone was so “moved” by the image they snuck away with it.
Ha ha!
Big, huge hugs, Moobs. I’m rooting for your chance at sleep deprivation and endless worry.
One of my all-time best friends had so much trouble and went through IVF 3 times before she finally conceived. Now she has happy, healthy twins and, like you said, feels so thankful to have the chance to do that worrying that comes with parenting.
The media sucks. As if people don’t have enough on their minds, but we’re made to feel like every single step we make could cause havoc for our kids, ourselves, society, etc.
Thinking of you – not odd at all what you say about longing for those worries. I’ve known quite a few other friends who longed for them too…
passion filled NHSW day to you!
Moobs, my Dad was 41 and my Mom was 37 when they had me and see??? Oh, wait…nevermind.
I’ll be thinking positive thoughts for you, truly.
So many things I want to say but all seem so trite and insignificant.
I dearly hope it works out for you both because from what you’ve written, you sound like the very best of parents. Lots of luck and best wishes xx
Fervently wishing you sleep deprivation and a chance to find surprise poo under your fingernails.