I just got back from a visit to the cardiologist. The quick version of why I was at the cardiologist is that I have heart palpitations, and my RE wanted me to get checked out before my my most recent ET, since, as she put it, I might want to have this problem assessed in case I got pregnant. Please, try not to spit out (or inhale) your morning coffee as break down at the hilarity of that statement. Anyway, I had some preliminary tests done before the ET, got the okay to move ahead (and we all know how that turned out), and was back today to be further inspected by an electrophysiologist and his trusty sidekick, the medical student on rotation. (I go to a large teaching hospital, and so there is always, always, a trusty sidekick of one variety or another.)
In short, the electrophysiologist told me that the palpitations are nothing to worry about, but they'll get worse as I get older. He complimented my blood pressure and my "disgustingly amazing" cholesterol level (my 85 of good cholesterol nearly brought him to awed tears). He told me to keep up the exercise and go forth and conquer. I left the clinic with a spring in my step.
That spring, however, slowed to more of a trudge within minutes, as I descended the stairs to the main level. The reason? I have walked down identical stairs across the hospital on numerous occasions in my to-ings and fro-ings from the RE clinic, and the muscle memory brought my emotional state down with it. Not only was I near the scene of numerous disappointments, but I also suddenly recalled that a woman from an online buddy group I'm in had her pregnancy test today - perhaps right at that very instant - in that very hospital. I don't know what she looks like, but, rather than comforting me, this thought merely made me suspect every couple there of having just joyously received the good news. She had transferred one excellent blast ten days ago and seems already to have been having symptoms, though she had shown remarkable restraint in not POAS. (And excellent blasts transferred into under-35s at my clinic have an 80% chance of success.) She is a kind and lovely person and has been through a great deal before getting to IVF, so I certainly would not begrudge her a BFP, but I was indecorously awash in self-pity by the time I reached the first floor. That compassion I said I had learned in the post below was nowhere on display when I tried to exit the parking garage and was delayed by elderly out-of-towners confused by the flow of traffic. Curse words were uttered. Hand gestures indicating frustration occurred. The best thing I can say is that those hand gestures were not obscene.
I feel as if I'm going through waves of wanting to try everything before I give up - damn the cost or the effort or the time required - alternating with waves of feeling as if I have had enough already and don't even want to do this FET. I guess I just feel as if it's likely to be a long road ahead still - that even if I got pregnant for a few days, something would probably go wrong, and then I'd just be moving on from one problem to another, but still nothing to show for my efforts in the end. I might feel more patience if I were 30, but I'm 34, which seems way older to me even than 33.