way #456 in which It Could Always Be Worse

So my psychiatrist thinks that no matter what happens in the next few months (in an effort to be more superstitious, I’m intentionally leaving the possibilities vague), I must not delay IVF again.

And (you might think this would lead her to take less of a hard line approach to the situation, but you’d be wrong) she thinks it’s weirder than I do, the whole fertility mortality situation (or rather, assisted fertility treatments concurrent with imminent mortality). I guess that’s a more direct way to put it. I think it’s not so weird at all. If the sandwich generation is taxed by the bizarre situation of taking care of their children and their elderly parents, it stands to fallow (follow! follow!) that there should be a subset of that generation who are still trying to have those children. I think that most of the friends I made as an adult have married and had their children in their thirties- and many of them haven’t even started trying yet. So this sort of thing is probably going to be a whole lot more common. And maybe it’s because I’ve been so wrapped up in the weirdness of it (by that I mean thinking about it objectively, constructively, a development for which I am grateful beyond words,) for, oh, say, the past month or so (thank you Nayla), that I haven’t noticed how in this month a whole other subset of friends seem to be having the proverbial mid life crisis, a process which hasn’t seemed to exclude any of the traditional behavioral caricatures (new car, new spouse, in one particular case, a weird obsession with roller derby and a –unrelated, I’m sure- switch in sexual orientation). So, I’m not going to say too much more about this, because the situations are obviously agonizing and not funny at all to the people going through them, but it did occur to me that those of us who put the Clomid in a separate cupboard from the one where we kept the Xeloda and post chemotherapy Compazine, are probably not going to buy outrageous new cars or have a marital crisis predicated on some guy who mucks out horse stalls and isn’t even old enough to drink, for goodness sakes. I’m trying to figure out if mail order fertility medication is cheaper (but how exactly are those FedEx trucks temperature controlled…because I know what happened once to a batch of measles vaccine in Sierra Leonne and it was not good), while my best New York friend is bemoaning his alimony payments and booking a trip to Fiji with a pole dancer (hi Jay).