To IVF or To Count My Blessings: On Exploring My Options of Possibly Conceiving Again

I always get what I want. I struggle with some things here and there, but mostly I get what I want. Except This Time.

The doctor brought out a glass filled with two different coloured balls; red and white. He explained that in a woman’s 20s the white balls in the glass will be the majority of the balls – those are great quality eggs. When you move into your 30s, the white balls reduce and the majority becomes the red colour balls – not so great quality eggs.

I didn’t have a great number of eggs to start with and – to make things worse – I was losing the white balls at a much faster pace compared to my peers.

He gave me two options:
to go home, thank the Lord that I already have a daughter and let go of the dream to have another child
or to try IVF – with a 25% chance of success and – hope for the best.  Aowa mara. 25%? 

Went home. Carrying an envelop with lots of reading, the cost breakdown of IVF and a broken heart.  Didn’t speak about this. I didn’t want to think about it. Shoved it somewhere deep down inside my heart.

It was after a year that I eventually opened that envelop with the reading about IVF process, cost and my recommended treatment. I took a year before I shared the information with close friends and family. Only after a year was I was open to explore IVF. 

In-Vitro-Fertilization (IVF) in short is when a fertility doctor takes the eggs from the ovaries using a small needle and fertilizes them with sperm in a specialized lab. After fertilization happens, the eggs develop into embryos. Five days later, the specialist re-implants the embryos back into the uterus. In my case we would first have to stimulate the ovaries so we can get as many viable eggs as possible.

Seemed very technical, daunting and bloody unsexy.

What does IVF entail? Needles, needles and more needles. I would be put on medication to stimulate my ovaries. The needles were so  I can inject myself in the tummy for the stimulation to happen.

It meant carrying around a cooler box of needles every time I was away from home. It meant mornings of preparing the needles, looking away and then stabbing myself with the damn thing. Sometimes having more than three at a go. 

All this effort for a possible 25% success rate. What did I do to deserve this kind of torture? 

I am struggling with the purpose of this challenge in my life. Have I taken things for granted because I’ve always had it easy? Or maybe I’m greedy, I have a kid already. What am I supposed to learn out of this? Batho ba Modimo what is this about? 

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