Three years ago was the start of a tough time in my life. Poppy died. I had the enormous task of cleaning a house filled with 30 years of memories. I sold that house. We tried to have a baby. I was told by the fertility doctor that she wouldn’t help me until I lost 30 more pounds (after losing 150 already). I got a mass in my breast. I had several mammograms at 30 years old. I had surgery to remove the mass (not cancerous, woo!). It was a whirlwind. I gained a lot of weight. And I’ve felt a lot of guilt.
I allowed these things to get in my way and I allowed them to be the excuses for my re-gain post WLS. I accepted that I would continue to be heavy. I accepted that I probably wouldn’t have a baby ever. I figured it is what it is. But I’m trying to convince myself that it doesn’t have to be.
We are going next week to a fertility specialist in the Indianapolis area. I don’t know what she’ll say. I don’t know if she’ll help us. I don’t know how we will afford it. But we are going to try. I don’t want it to be a waste of their time or ours, and I hope it won’t be. I know she will tell me I need to lose weight (yeah, like I don’t know that?), but I’m hopeful it will be a more positive experience than I had with the last specialist.
Time will tell…