Not the New Kid Anymore

**having technical difficulties with this freaking font! I can't figure it out, but it's getting on my nerves.**

I haven’t written much about this IVF cycle that I’m going through. I didn’t want this blog to be about my infertility and numbers and doctor’s appointments. I know a lot of blogs like that, but just wanted to do something different. I started this blog trying to be positive all the time, and that’s just not in my personality. So I decided to just write about how I have come to view the world as a result of going through multiple IVF’s and pregnancy loss. I’ve never been one for depression or too much drama, so I even surprised myself to learn that I was seeing the good in things. Perhaps that was a coping mechanism.

Usually during IVF I keep it a secret. I don’t really tell family or friends that I’m going through it. The reason is that I didn’t want to have to tell 25 people that a cycle didn’t work. But after our pregnancy loss, everyone knows our infertile biz-ness. I’m fine with that, I still keep it on my terms and let people know what I’d like them to know. This cycle I feel a little more comfortable with letting people know where we’re at and keeping an update on this blog. It is what it is, and I can’t change that.

This week I have been getting monitored because I’m doping myself up on Gonal F (follicle growing drug) every night and the doctor's need to monitor how those follicles are growing, and if there's any changes in the drugs for the retrieval. Every other morning I join the cattle call of women hoping for babies. I think of us as the IUI and IVF girls. I have to first tell them my name (like a marine), “Brower, reporting for duty.” I get my parking validated and get my paperwork and a number like you’d get at the deli counter or a fast food restaurant. The receptionist is miserable, and I try to make her smile by being overly nice, sometimes making a joke. No smiles today, not even a look into my eyes.

I like to sit in the waiting area waiting for my number to be called and look around. Trying to figure out who will be good mothers. Who will make their kids join the chess club, or will be fun and young and have boundless energy? I look at clothes and handbags trying to figure out what walks of life all these women come from. I can see many of them doing the same thing. I watch the “new kids.” The ones who have never done this and have no clue what they are doing. They wait anxiously and are so excited they can’t even read a magazine or book as they wait. Their number gets called and it looks like they are accepting an Oscar. They stand up, look around with a grin, and walk slowly to the waiting ultrasound tech.

Perhaps that’s not the worst thing. Feeling that hope and anticipation again. Perhaps I should watch those girls a little closer and try to have some of that rub off on me. But I know the system now, and know the right questions to ask. I know the ultrasound techs I like and the phlebotomists that don’t hurt me when they draw my blood. I guess there is something to be said for being the high school senior. I’m just ready to graduate this place and start the real life. I don’t want to be the new kid, but I certainly don’t want to be the expert at this anymore. I’m ready to be the new kid in a whole different category.