All of you BorN regulars who've strongly advised caution, and applauded my recent turn toward romantic sobriety, will be disappointed in me today. Last night, I told J~ I'm ready for this to be the last month of condoms. In spite of a cauldron full of worries, it remains clear: This is what we want to do. Life is too short for indefinite hesitation. As Annie Dillard is quick to remind us (see Imminent Death, three entries back), we're not getting any younger.
I also told him that I wanted to see an R.E. A.S.A.P (that's reproductive endocrinologist, for those of you who've never faced any challenges in that arena and haven't needed to apply this particular combination of acronyms).
Those of you readers who've strongly advised I get tested up and down and left and right, I'm sure you're also surprised to see my brick wall against medical intervention isn't quite so solid after all. (See Slippery Slopes, my entry from May 16th).
It's not a complete tear-down, though. I won't let them inject dye into my uterus to make sure its formed properly. I won't get an endometrial biopsy (where they pinch a sample of uterine lining, to make sure it's forming thick and rich enough to support a baby) because I wouldn't do any of the hormonal medications that would be prescribed in this case. But I will let them take a vial or two of blood. If there's a clotting disorder to blame for my miscarriages, I'd rather submit to the slightly disturbing baby aspirin once-a-day ritual (I'm a bit medicine-phobic) than kick my crying self as a third miscarriage comes on.
On the phone with J~ last night, I held my breath for his response. I expected he'd distrust my conviction, have some words about taking it slow, about how freaked out I'd seemed just a few weeks earlier. But no. There was a moment's hesitation, but not breath-held worry, as I feared. More like a deepening, letting it sink in. "I think it makes sense," he said. "Let's get this party started."
With B~ tucked in safely with his mother for the weekend, and off to camp for the next two weeks, J~ will make his way to my place tonight after work for the first in a string of nights of delicious privacy. Tomorrow, we'll be guests at a picnic at my brother's house, and Sunday, we plan to roll up our sleeves to spackle and sand and paint J~'s house.
This party is about to get rockin'.