the results have been in and I've been casting them and grabbing them
...all eggs and bad tubes...
We met with my doctor. The results and finds of my surgery show that my fallopian tubes are blocked with the worst: scar tissue. The build up is from surgical adhesions from my c-section years ago with my first baby. There's a possibility that a 1.5 month old miscarriage also lended to the scar tissue. I was able to get pregnant a second time so easily because the adhesions had not grown and I was much much younger.
He gave us this news and did tell me that his wife, who is my age, had the same issue and she only had one tube, one ovary. They have two children now via IVF. He told me that I should feel grateful that I have eggs. "You should see the faces when I have to say 'I'm sorry but you don't have any eggs'." And he managed to tell me all this without making it sound like I was ungrateful. He's a fine professional. But of course, his praise for my eggs, his wife's success, didn't make me feel any better off than women without eggs. Even still I smiled and nodded affirmatively. He also gave me pics of the surgery and explained the surgery and finds step by step in detail. He then sent us off with the IVF packet shown in the pictures above. In the first pic, I look so much like my Dad, but what I'm really doing is biting my lip and faking a smile because of the news and Gera's trying to make me ease. In the second one, after a few elevator rides up and down (yes we did ride the elevator literally up and down), he said something silly, something so Gera, and made me laugh; that one is genuine me. I had to post both pics.
So Gera and I can only conceive via IVF. However, we're not doing that. My health insurance does not cover IVF and we certainly don't have $11,000 unexpectedly lying around anywhere.
How are we doing?
We are disappointed but in a good place. Of course everything is more noticeable now than it used to be. This week alone I saw, all counted, 47 pregnant women, and when we watched movies, that one with Katherine Heigl was on. She accidentally gets pregnant and decides to have the baby. Then just today, while we were bumming around in our undies drinking coffee, taking advantage of the holidays, Mel Gibson's Apocalypse was on. Pregnancy everywhere. This can be expected though. And I have honestly found a little humor in it all.
We are surrounded by babies starting with my love Ruby, who is preparing for a little brother or sister in May, Cierra who is my little sky (she coos when I sing to her and I love putting her in front of their Christmas tree and watch her little 3 month old eyes wander from one light to the next), and we have Gera's son who may come live with us within the next year or two. We've been trying to get him for a while. It's not easy. So we're pretty kid-ed-up. I'm grateful for my eggs and too stingy to give them away so I will take them with me to my end. Sometimes, succumbing to fate is not so bad.
It's May 2012 and nothing has changed since November.11. I am all smiles at my relationship and myself. My honey and I continue to amaze each other on a daily basis. We're still ever so 'in' with each other. I completed my MA in literature last May and I'm teaching four college English courses to really smart students. I am hopeful to enter a doctorate program soon. This way, I can run out.All is scary good.
upon hearing your voice life again expands like moon crest like pomegranates swell to the sun and you are patient because god calls
when he came for you this morning you were bent into the flower bed singing black hymns so he left you alone until this third afternoon but even then he found you elbow deep in jewel weed with a mouthful of figs from a nearby tree again he waited because each time seemed to him an inconvenience and a wrong moment
and it was your persistent humming that drove him up and back until he could get his timing perfect he waited another day or so until
your gardening tools rest into porch corners your paring knife shines deeply into a drawer your hair comb lies slanted in a shoebox your wedding band hides in the mattress your fishing rod stays stolen
the sound of your voice desires to sing or hum but this time is perfect he has covered you like lavender-colored silence but he has also added streaks of olive green and pink because this is what the other soul-folk has told him to do and he has become tired in the process and therefore begins to rush sonances of your body he finds you the least complex when you are not outdoors digging in that garden, humming hymns and thriving and for a moment he questions his own timing its perfection and everything goes accordingly until he finds you have buried fruit peels and wandering jew petals underneath your back this does not anger him but it tilts his agility to deliver you and in his own questioning and presence of smells that he cannot privilege all this over powers his choice all this reels his otherwise perfection into letting you go
when i see you sitting in the plush squares of limitless St. Augustine your eyes are lit like crystal warmed soil releases from each of your hands
how did i get to this point this point of knowing you for you are nearly a century old