It’s all about waiting, and it always has been. Even when we’d been together for three years, when we were pretty sure that we’d be together for the rest of our lives, and we were certain there were no diseases we could spread to each other, we still waited until our wedding had come and gone before we abandoned the prophylactics and the birth control pills. When we didn’t get pregnant after that first year of marriage we didn’t pay much attention to the notion that one year of unprotected sex without a pregnancy is enough to warrant a diagnosis of infertility. Instead, we waited. And we waited yet again, after years of trying, when we were finally fairly certain that infertility was our problem, because we had too much going on in our lives. It could have been stress, we convinced ourselves. And so, we waited.
We finally decided to take action earlier this year, after nearly four years of infertility. Stephanie was done with her master’s program and I was finishing up mine. She was out of work, with more time to devote to the procedures and such that infertility treatment would require. And, generally, we were in higher spirits. We were ready to make the leap, to see if we could get where we wanted to go.
Along the way, there have been more periods of waiting, the most prolonged and painful of which has taken place over these last two weeks. The fortnight between embryo transfer and pregnancy test is often cited as the most stressful part of the in-vitro fertilization process and, like so many other things, that has been no different for us. We have been thoroughly average in our aggravation.
Today, we faced one more waiting period. Though we went in to have Stef’s blood drawn early this morning for the pregnancy test, it wasn’t until we’d waited the entire day, until we’d finally grown frustrated with waiting and called an emergency after-hours line because we’d waited too long… It wasn’t until after all of that that we finally got our answer.
And now, ladies and gentleman, I shall ask you to wait a bit. The answer we were given isn’t something I feel comfortable sharing just yet. I suppose the very nature of this roundabout writing conjures the image of a smirking Chris sitting at his keyboard. I suppose you may be able to guess what the answer we were given was. But I’m not going to say it out loud yet. I’m not going to type it. It’s still too delicate, too fragile. And I hope that you’ll understand. A little bit of waiting never hurt us, and I hope it won’t hurt you.