The Call.

Have you ever gotten a call that has completely changed your life?

The kind that you are never the same afterwards?

My first earth shattering call came on September 9, 2001,

when my family was told we needed to say goodbye to my Omi.

She had fought hard in her battle against cancer,

but in the end, this nasty, terrible disease won the fight.

My Omi was always one of my favorite people.

She loved me in all the best ways that a grandma loves a grand daughter.

Growing up, I would visit her on her farm in Georgia.

I would spend months riding horses,

shopping, and eating her delicious food.

It was a happy day when I found out

she was moving back to Cincinnati,

and even happier when she moved right down the 

street from us in St. Bernard.

I loved her cooking,

baking bread in her bread maker,

mixing ice cream in her ice cream maker,

and spending many summer days with her.

When she needed her treatments,

I would ride with her to the doctor's

appointments, and afterwards

we would eat lunch and shop.

Yes, the night we got the call that I had to say goodbye

to this woman I loved so much,

changed my life.

Up until today, no other phone call or event

has compared.

Until today.

At 8:50 A.M., my phone began ringing.

To my horror, the caller ID said, 

"Institute for Reproductive Health."

Oh no, this can't be good.

When I left the office last week,

the next form of communication was going

to be ME calling THEM if I started my period.

I debated letting the call go to voice mail, but then reluctantly 

picked up the phone and said hello.

More fear set in when I heard my DOCTOR's voice.

What? This must be bad if the doctor is calling and not a nurse.

He was friendly and asked how I was.

Of course I was honest and said,

"I'm worried that you are calling me."

He then proceeded to explain the reason

for his call.

Last week when I had my blood drawn 

(you know, for the test I couldn't remember

what it was for because I apparently didn't think it was 

important)

was to test my AMH levels.

For those of you who don't know,

AMH stands for 

Anti-Mullerian Hormone and

helps doctors detect ovarian reserve

(meaning the number of eggs left,

and/or the quality of the eggs left).

Women with levels above 0.50 have a

better chance of conceiving (and the higher up

the level is, the better), and levels lower

than 0.50 do not bode well for pregnancy.

What was my level you ask?

A 0.53.

I was crushed.

Was that the floor I felt crumbling beneath me?

I had to sit down.

Dr. B told me not to freak out.

He said, "I know you are going to 

google this and it is going to look bad.

But don't freak out.

I've had patients with lower amh levels

than this who have gotten pregnant."

He also told me that we needed to be

more aggressive, especially if

Keith and I wanted more than one child.

He then proceeded to tell me that 

he wanted me to come back in for a retest,

as well as double my dose of my prenatal vitamin,

and begin taking 400 mg of Co-Q10 supplements.

My conversation ended with me setting up

an appointment for that day to be retested,

but I'm surprised I was even able to speak 

real sentences.

I got off of the phone and felt like the wind had been 

knocked out of me.

I immediately called Keith, who answered but

had difficulty understanding what I was saying

because I was so upset.

After explaining what Dr. B said to Keith,

I got off of the phone and immediately

jumped to google.

Dr. B was right.

This looks bad.

It looks REALLY bad.

According to google, many people with low AMH

do not have success with IUI or IVF,

obtain donor eggs, and/or adopt.

Saying I was crushed does not

even begin to describe how I felt.

Inconsolable? Miserable? Guilty?

Oh, the guilt that consumes me right

now is eating at me.

The thought of me not having my own child

never crossed my mind.

I thought it may take me a little longer than others,

but I assumed eventually I would get there.

The thought of never experiencing what

most women call the best experience of your life,

kills me.

The fact that our family is not becoming a 

reality because of me is too much.

My thoughts are consumed that I am not

good enough anymore, that this is not fair.

I tried to do everything right:

did well all throughout my elementary, high school,

and college years; met the man I wanted to spend

the rest of my life with; found a job doing what

I love to do; bought a house. This was the next logical

step, so why do I feel like I'm being punished for something?

That afternoon I was driving and 

was stopped at a light under a bridge. 

The thought came to me that infertility feels like the weight of that bridge

was falling on to me, and there was nothing I could do to

stop it.

I even told Keith to divorce me because he deserves to have children

that have his DNA.

It is not fair of me to keep him from that.

But that guy doesn't give up,

so I guess I can't either.

It is amazing to me that I went to bed the night before

hopeful that this cycle would bring a positive change.

Now, with one little 10 minute phone call,

my world is changed forever.