Update from the World of Infertility

I got exciting news last night. One of the dearest, most caring people I know has a 13-year old son, product of their second IVF attempt. For years, they have had four frozen embryos, and have been conflicted about what to do with them. I suspect a bit of a back and forth between the desire to have more children and questioning the morality of not using the frozen embryos.

She is 41 years old, and has decided that now is the time. If it works, fabulous and scary things await, and if it doesn't, she's at peace with the fact that she's done the right thing, and can be content with her family as is. I am so proud of her for making a scary decision, and so excited at the prospect.

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About a month back, I got a letter from Dr. Pleasant, the RE, congratulating me on the birth of the babes. I meant to save it to post here, but can't seem to put my hands on it (go figure!)

He told me, at my last visit, to please let him know when the babies are born. "How sweet," I thought. "He cares!" He then went on to explain that it's very important for them to track the live births of those conceived in their clinic. For the statistics, you know.

So I sent him a baby announcement and photo. Because I wanted my babies to be part of the pile that he shares with prospective parents in their consult. When he says, "And of course, you know that many, many people who conceive using IVF will end up with multiples." As he holds up a photo of someone's gorgeous, drool-inducing babies. Mine?

Anyway, the letter. I can't remember the exact wording, but I was surprised at the sappiness of it all, and it ended with an invitation to please bring the babies around to visit the office. Oh, and to please contact them if they can be of any additional service (more babies, perhaps? Not anytime soon.)

While it's lovely to express an interest, I just thought it kind of odd for then to invite us to the office. There is nothing more I would have hated, as a patient, than to see a momma stroll on in with her babies, the objects of my obsession and ultimate desire; a reminder of what I didn't have. I never did see any babies, over all of my many visits.

How about a baby-reunion open house, instead?