How long will the good stuff last?

This question is something I’ve been asking myself over the last few weeks, but don’t quite have an answer for. Before May and my appointment with Dr. TAD, I was struggling in my work and in my life as an infertile. I was still trying to come to terms with the idea that I would unlikely have biological children and trying to shift my focus of trying to get pregnant with my eggs to trying to build a family by whatever means would provide a good chance of success. I was struggling with the fact my work was not going well and had been stagnant for over two years and questioning the choice I had made to get a PhD after having worked a “real” job for 6 years. Infertile and hating my career choice was not where I had imagined myself in year 2006. The faith I had that most things in life would work themselves out was almost nonexistent. I wasn’t sure if I could ever be truly happy again and even if I could, how I would get myself there.

Then, came the surprising new test results and the possibility that I may have a better chance at conceiving than we thought. Still, I was cautious. I had lost my trust in doctors and my own research into high FSH and DOR told me to be cautious of fluctuating numbers. Then, came breakthroughs in my work and I could feel my general self-confidence starting to grow again. There were setbacks and scares in starting the cycle and decisions not to try to do too much at one time (do Clomid/IUI and have a committee meeting). Decisions made based in part because I was afraid it was all going to turn out to be bad news and I didn’t think I could handle the crush of emotions that would follow. But, slowly, slowly, things seemed to be falling together. All my tests kept coming back negative and in preparing for my pre-defense meeting it dawned on me that some of the work I had put into my research these last few years were not for nothing, that I may have made some contribution to basic scientific knowledge after all.

Part of me knows that just because things are going well (and sometimes better than I expect) doesn’t mean it will continue to go that way. Life has ups and downs, period. I’ve had the downs, now I’m just having some ups. But, I know another part of me, a part of me I’m afraid to feed but not too afraid to invite out to play, has other ideas. That other part of me secretly hopes that the wave of things-going-well will last and imagines life six months from now as I am defending my thesis, on the edge of impending motherhood. And that scares me a bit. It scares me that I can have these thoughts again so easily. At the same time, I don’t want them to go away because they are such nice thoughts. Like the feeling you get when you are gently waking from a beautiful dream. I’m even able to talk for short lengths of time with my co-worker who is in the middle of her second trimester. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t even look at her in passing.

And it doesn’t help that Mr. Worrier is excited, too. I feel like we’re both being too optimistic and forgetting the months and months of disappointment we have gone through. I have this sense that things are too good right now and it just can’t last. I must have used up all my good karma points with the biopsy and culture. No? Well, then, I can’t be lucky with the Clomid and not have any side effects. A pimple? That’s it? Surely, that’s the end of the good news. No response from Clomid for me, right? Oh, three mature follicles. Well, this has got to be the end of the road for the good ship lollipop, right? Things can’t keep going well for me. Bad news must be imminent for the earth to remain balanced and not spin off it’s axis, right?