Devotion

Bad News: I'm old, and so are my ovaries. OK, maybe just my ovaries are old. I'm still a spring chicken.

I got a call from the nurse at the clinic yesterday; our bloodwork was in from last week's tests.

Neither of us have any of the tested diseases - duh. We both have the same blood type (A+ in case any of you need a transfusion in the future). My AMH levels (that's the follicle-stimulating hormone) are low. Very low. Very, very, no longer on the chart low.

"Typically, levels this low do not make for a good IVF candidate," she stated in a near whisper.

"Oh. Alright." I tried to sound as upbeat as one can with the horrible lump of one's dreams being dashed in my throat.

I have an appointment to discuss "options" with the doctor on President's Day. (Still with enough optimism to want to conserve sick days, just in case, but with enough reality in my head to realize there's no rush.)

My wonderful, exquisitely loving husband, who wasn't as thrilled to have another mouth to feed and butt to clean as I, has been trying desperately and loyally to console me and to give me nothing but encouragement. I can't express how much love I feel for him right now for the articles and forums he's been reading to me and showing me in the last 16 hours. I fell asleep last night to his encouraging words, and woke up to them this morning as well.

My heart is breaking, but I have realized something I've taken for granted too many times in our relationship and marriage. He is devoted to me beyond any expectations I've ever held for him or anyone else. Screw Hallmark holidays, my valentine shows his love in ways no stupid card or dead flowers can.