Thursday, January 28, 2016

coming soon.

They call my name sooner than I expected. A nurse ushers me behind a curtain to check my height, weight, and blood pressure, and I sit beside her as she clicks through her list of questions. "Oh, it's your first visit to nephrology! Welcome!" I try not to sound sarcastic as I thank her, but I'm not happy to join this club. Out of the corner of my eye, a number jumps out at me from my chart.


The patient is thirty-five years old, and I'm the patient, so I'm thirty-five. It's older than I feel, but biology isn't fueled just by emotions.

The nurse hums a little. "Any medications?" she asks.

"Nope," I respond. "Just a prenatal vitamin. We were hoping to start trying to conceive again soon."

She smiles broadly at me. "Oh, congratulations! How exciting."

And it is. But soon is a relative term, the implications of which echo in my heart as the nephrologist sits down with me to discuss our next steps. Soon, we'll schedule an ultrasound, a CAT scan, possibly a kidney biopsy; we'll know more soon. Soon.

At the end of this particular soon is, hopefully, my release from nephrology with a clean bill of health, and an all-clear to proceed with our family planning as we wish. It'll be at least four weeks before my next nephrology appointment, though, and before the next "next steps" are discerned. Weeks add up, and weeks turn into months, and my mind's eye keeps flashing back to the number on my chart.

35. Already advanced maternal age, already reaching the end of my reproductive years.

35. And at least thirty-six by the time I have another baby, to say nothing of another baby after that.

35. Three years older than when I was pregnant with Rowan.

35. Not old, but no spring chicken, either.

35. Maybe I've been waffling about adding another baby to our family, but let me just say, I don't like being told that I can't right now, and that we have to wait.


The answers can't come soon enough.

(And you can tell me all you want to calm down and not freak out, and I will do my best to follow that advice while also trying to erase the pitying look on the doctor's face when I joked, "So it wasn't the cranberries?" Nope. Definitely not the cranberries.)

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  1. Can we please remove the term "advanced maternal age" from the vocabulary! Keep yourself busy so before you know it your teets will be back and you will get the go ahead!

    1. hahaha I know. It's such a judgy term. :) Trying not to look up my test results every three minutes...trying and failing...



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