On the roller coaster -- again

That tight grip of fear has got me again this morning. It's a helpless feeling, really, and all the more frustrating for that.

I've written about Older Daughter's struggles with IVF this year -- the "Family Way" posts in the archives will bring you up to speed, if you need to know, or just click on the "IVF" tab at the bottom of this post and start scrolling down when the new page loads.

But, other than mentioning why Long Suffering Spouse and I were in Indianapolis recently, I haven't subjected you to a lot of discussion on the latest efforts.

I'd rather brag on grandchildren when they're born.

But things had been rather optimistic -- mostly happy phone conversations between Long Suffering Spouse and Older Daughter, at least on that subject -- and we'd begun to think, well, this time may really be it.

Last night, though, Older Daughter texted that she was having cramps and spotting and she was going to bed. We already knew she had a doctor's appointment this morning.

My wife's cell phone went off at around 7:00am.

The news is decidedly mixed. The doctors still think Older Daughter is pregnant, but they can't say if she will hold the eggs with which she's been implanted. The cramps and spotting may turn into something else. But it might not go that route. Many women spot and cramp early in a pregnancy -- before they have any business knowing that they're pregnant, in fact -- and don't realize that it's not a variation on the monthly misery.

I am increasingly convinced that doctors can't do a whole heck of a lot besides monitor. Observe. Report. They think they can do so much more, but they really can't. They can't do a whole lot more for Older Daughter than I can, or her mother can -- and we're pretty helpless at this point. What will be, must be.

So the doctors can't really tell Older Daughter whether she's in trouble, or whether this momentary crisis will past and be largely forgotten as things progress.

And, if things do turn back around, and if things do go well in the end, I'd probably forget all about the hollow feeling I have right now -- unless I come back and review this post. The brain forgets, but the lining of my stomach acquires yet another scar.