Constricting-

We got a letter in the mail today from our reproductive clinic. My husband said, "I wonder what this could be?" I told him I had sent them a card and a short letter of appreciation to our fertility doctor, Dr. J, but I didn't think they would send anything back in response to that. It couldn't be a bill, because I paid our account off months and months ago.

He opened it while I was making dinner, and said, "Oh no!" I stopped stirring the rice and looked over at him, wondering what it could be about. He said, "Dr. J accepted a position in Texas. She's leaving in January."

I'm devastated. I kept saying, "Oh no." Randomly while cooking dinner, as it hit me again and again.

I know that she has to do what's best for her career and herself, I can appreciate that, but right now all I can see is my own loss. We switched to her after seeing our first RE for a year (he was a terrible fit). With Dr. J, we had a wonderful relationship. She always believed in us, went above and beyond, and did everything she could for us. She was wonderful, and I'd hoped to see her next year to discuss our options once more. Now, I don't know if I'll get to see her before she leaves.

I believe that the other doctors at the clinic are competent and I'm sure they are wonderful- I've met them briefly when Dr. J was on vacation or at a conference. But they were never what Dr. J was to us, they didn't know us or understand where we've been. I don't know if they're of the same mind as her, if they'll handle my loss issues as well as she did. I don't trust them like I trust her.

Honestly, I'm scared about seeing someone else. Dr. J was my safety net of understanding. I don't trust my OB like I did Dr. J. I've never had a doctor so personal, who took an interest in us, who made it a point to know us by appearance and not by chart. Yeah, I know we went there for two years, but she's known us by sight since our first appointment. She knew I always came in with research articles, that I was going to take notes and research everything she told me, and she was okay with that! She encouraged it.

I've been feeling nostalgic lately, with V's first birthday coming up. That last consult keeps running through my mind. She told me that she believed we could carry to term, but she couldn't give us any odds. There were no guarantees, because despite all that testing we still didn't know exactly what was going on. She urged us to keep trying. She said she was sure she could get us pregnant again, and that she believed it was only a matter of time until we carried to term. You could tell she cared by the look in her eye and the sound in her voice.

We told her that we wanted to stop treatments, that we wanted to pursue donor embryos or adoption because we couldn't rationalize paying $2-4k out of pocket just to have another miscarriage. We were coming up on 4 years of trying, and we were just done. I was beginning to seriously contemplate living child-free because I just couldn't take any more heart break. She asked me if I would try, just one more time, if she could get me the medicine I needed. I hesitated, and talked it over with A. I think ultimately we decided, "What could it hurt? What's one last try?" It seemed right, one last try on our 4 year anniversary of trying. One last go before saying goodbye. We never imagined it would work.

Yet, here's my son. This perfect, unimaginable being. This precious child I had given up all hope of, teaching me to believe in the impossible. And it's all thanks to Dr. J. She's the one who never gave up. She's the one who performed my surgery, did all the testing my first RE refused to do, recommended the course of action that ultimately helped us. She's the one who told me that we could survive the sub-chorionic hematoma, and that she's seen babies survive worse than mine. She's the one who found that beautiful heart beat, reassuring me over and over that he's still alive.

And now she's leaving. Just as we decided we should schedule an appointment in mid-Jaurary to early February, we're finding out that she'll be gone by then. I don't know if they'll squeeze me in before she leaves. I don't know if we'll get the aggressive help we need. I don't know if my new RE will listen to me the way she did. I don't know if I'll have the same help, the same level of care, the same ear to talk to. I don't know. And I don't want to scale that mountain all over again in order to get the level of care I need.

I don't think I have it in me to go through that all over again.