The Big Day

I'm ovulating so today is Insemination Day! B left first thing in the morning to go deliver the goods and I'll go in a few hours later. Apparently, it takes a few hours to prepare between drop-off and pick-up. I'm not sure why. Perhaps they greet each individual swimmer? As I got ready for work, I briefly wondered if I should wear something special for the occasion, but who I was I trying to impress? The sperm were going to get an entirely different view and I strongly doubted they were going to comment on my coordinating cardigan and heels on the big swim upstream. The rest of the morning went by as if in a dream. The whole idea that I was actually going to get inseminated was surreal. Until it was happening.

Yet again, I sat in the doctor's office with my little kleenex cover, shivering on the table waiting for the action to start. It was a long road leading up to this point and now that it was actually here..... I was a little afraid. No turning back now, right? The nurse came in first armed with B's mojo and once I verified his Social Security number was the correct number on the package the doctor came in and got down to business. I'm not kidding. He pulled up the rolly chair, unwrapped the catheter, rubbed his hands together and said, "let's do this." No foreplay, not even small talk about the weather. Just spread 'em and "let's do this."

Needless to say, I less than ready for the metal duck lips and the doctor said to the nurse, "look, she's holding back already." What did this guy expect? And while we're at it, why should I be condemned for this? Shouldn't I receive praise for not being so willy-nilly about foreign objects coming my way down there? Who are these women whose bodies apparently scream, "bring it on!" and why aren't they getting the admonishing looks?

In less than five minutes the whole insemination was over and again I was alone in the room laying on the examination table. Talk about wham, bam, thank you ma'am! I layed there for ten minutes as instructed and thought about all of the plans B and I had made for our kids-to-be over the years. I imagined the look on his face when I would tell him I was pregnant and wondered if when we were old and fighting over jello cubes would we remember all of the craziness that lead us to this day? But most of that time I prayed. I prayed to G-d that we would be blessed with a little boy or girl and promised I would spend every moment as a parent making my mom proud of me. I prayed that our home would be filled with a little child's laughter as Gilby and Ovie licked him or her.

Then before I knew it, ten minutes was over and I was dressed, bill paid and heading back to work. I called B and Lemmon to fill them in, but that was it. I was convinced everyone at work and then later at Publix could tell. Instead of a scarlet letter I felt like I had a big IUI imprinted on my chest.

So the waiting game has officially begun. In about two weeks I'll know if it worked. Cross your fingers!

Can Somebody Spare a Square?

We waited and waited for the crazy to begin. I don't think anyone questioned that I would be a complete nutjob on the Clomid, so to all my doubters, "HA!" I didn't go crazy! I swear! I even asked around if I was acting nuttier than usual. No hot flashes either, so Clomid and I got along just fine. A few days after I finished with the Clomid I went in for an ultrasound to make sure there was more than one egg growing (but not 8..).

As soon as I walked in the door of ACRM I had to give more blood. My track marks are causing quite a stir at work. I love the whispered speculation about what I'm on. I was really impressed when I overheard heroin being thrown around because a) that's hard-core which would mean I was hard-core and b) that stuff ain't cheap, so they've picked up on my good taste without realizing that my shopping Mecca has Marshalls and TJ Maxx right next to each other with Target up the street.

Armed with my bandaid, I was led into the ultrasound room and told to take everything off from the waist down. Once the nurse left and I started to take off my clothes, I came to the all-familiar underwear dilemma. Take it or leave it? Why isn't medical staff ever clear about this? I've seen many ultrasounds on MTV's Teen Mom so I know they just throw some cold gel on your stomach and rub a stick around it and voila! A picture appears on the screen. Why do I need to take my clothes off for that? I figured maybe they've had problems with the gel staining clothes and wanted to protect my work pants. (Another point for Marshalls and TJ Maxx! People think my pants cost more than $12.99!) I took them off, turned to the examination table and picked up the paper "sheet" to cover myself. This "sheet" turned out to be approximately the size of the paperback book I read in the waiting room. No joke. In the words of Elaine Bennes, "[they] couldn't spare a square?" I'm not one of those cute, petite little women in the waiting room. I need something that will actually cover more than a knee cap! I began to frantically search the cabinets for another little piece of paper sheet so I could attach them together with the little medical code/chart stickers on the counter. (very MacGyver) of me, yes?) There was none to be found. I couldn't afford to run around the exam room any longer because at any moment the Dr would walk in. I heard footsteps approaching and then stop outside the door. I lunged for the exam table and just managed to land on the edge with the sheet covering my crotch when the PA entered. After a few minutes of small talk her eyes drifted down and noticed my underwear. She asked why I hadn't removed it and I told her I didn't see why I would need to and anyway, it's a bit drafty for my cheeks. She looked me right in the eye and asked, "Lauren, you do know that all of our ultrasounds are vaginal here, right?" "Oh.. yeah, duh. I guess I forgot." WTF? This wasn't explained in the folder of graphs and charts! How could I miss this vital piece of information! I don't think I'd remember something as important as VAGINAL ULTRASOUND. A person needs to prepare for this kind of thing.... I shimmied off the exam table and the PA held the kleenex up for me while I took off my underwear and hid it in under my pants. Because she hadn't seen it, right? Why do I keep doing that?

The rest of the exam went fine. There was a big, juicy egg and a few smaller ones so insemination is a GO! Now I just call when I surge (like my lingo?) and the next day is Turkey Baster Day!

She Came! She Came!

Flow finally made an appearance! I haven't been happy to see her in well over a year, so it was a nice change to dance a little instead of lining up shots in her honor. So now it all begins. On days 5-9 of my cycle I take a drug called Clomid which is supposed to stimulate some tubes or something to shoot out a few more eggs. It's all very technical, as you can see. The thing about the Clomid is.... everyone says it makes you crazy. B was very concerned about my signing the release for this medication which I found touching because there are some pretty scary side effects I can potentially develop from it. Of course, this is not the cause for B's concern. B is scared shitless that a) I'm going to turn into a Raving Nutt (shout out to a former student, and YES that was her real name!) and b) that the Clomid is going to turn me into the next Octomom. Which won't be too bad if I get to sit next to Matt Lauer when he interviews me for the Today show!

Let the Crazy Countdown begin!

Flow? Are you there?

Alright. We're ready to go. Let's start this Insemination Party! The first step is to get my period. Only, it's not here. It should have been here. No, I'm not pregnant - three tests made that glaringly clear. So what's the deal? I haven't wanted Old Flow around for a year and a half and NOW she decides to play games? ACRM called to find out when I started so we could start tracking. I'm supposed to start taking Clomid on days 5-9 to sprout some extra eggs, but see, I can't start taking it until I get my period! I've waited too long to sit in a holding pattern right now. People at work are beginning to give me strange looks. Perhaps it's because I keep running to the bathroom to check. Talk about 6th grade flashback! (refer to Ode to Menstruation for more details). Just a few minutes ago my boss made me laugh so hard I felt a little trickle of something down there and got up and ran to the bathroom.

No Flow, just a little pee.

Men: Gotta love 'em

Based on some questions B asked the doctor at our big appointment, I was seriously doubting his understanding of how babies are made. I think his sex ed teacher said the word boobies and B tuned out the rest of the semester. I was getting pretty riled up about it until I went nextdoor, to the home of my little boyfriend. Boyfriend's parents are absolutely hilarious, and they are so reassuring about this whole process because they've been through it. I took my folder of graphs, charts over to them with my list of questions and they took one look at it and laughed. So we were off to a good start. As we were talking I told them my concerns about B's lack of understanding of reproduction and they told me the following fantastic story:

Friends of theirs had just started trying to get pregnant. One night the wife called down from the top of the stairs, "Honey, I'm ovulating!" to which the husband replied, "So we're pregnant?"

or how about this one:

When I heard this, I almost peed myself. A friend of friend has a baby who is over a year old. She had finished her period one morning and her husband propositioned her that evening. She asked, "what are you doing?" and he responded, "trying to get you knocked up."
umm just a little late...

That pretty much put it all into perspective :)

Earth to B

Later in the evening of our first appointment with ACRM, B called me after speaking with a friend of his who recently had twins as a result of IUI treatments.

B: Laura said we should start having sex on the 10th day of your cycle and then every other day afterwards
Me: Are you serious?
B: Yeah, that's what we were doing wrong! (he sounded like he found gold in the backyard, no joke)
Me: No, are you seriously that clueless? What do you think we've been doing for the past 14 months???????? Do you not recall every month when I bring out the calendar and tell you what days to make sure you're not working too late?
B: Oh, that's what you were doing
Me: What did you think? That you won the sex lottery?
B: I chose not to question it.

The Surreal World of Fertilty Treatments

Our test results are in and everything looks good. Yay! But I'm still not pregnant. Boo! We were referred to a fertility specialist, Atlanta Center for Reproductive Medicine (ACRM). This was pretty tough to swallow, but after a good long talk with B, a pep talk with my BFF and three very good and diiirty vodka martinis I was feeling better about the whole situation. After a year of "be patient" and "don't stress" I was anxious for someone to figure out the problem and solve it already.

Our first appointment was literally two days after I called, which was a good thing because I didn't have time to overanalyze all the emotions running rampant inside me. The night before the appointment B and I were filling out the 15 pages of paperwork and we started talking about adoption. If it came to that, where would we shop for a kid? After much debate we decided we'd get a kid from Asia because being Jewish, soy sauce runs in our blood.

We got to our appointment promptly at 8am where we were handed yet another stack of forms to fill out. The office was packed. Every seat was taken with good looking, young couples. I was surprised. I expected a dark, dungeon where they stick all the fertility-challenged folks, but the office was well lit, nicely decorated and every single couple was beautiful. It was like walking into a JCrew catalogue. B and I definitely didn't fit in. Just as I was thinking this, B took the opportunity to point it out by saying quite loudly, "Where are the other ugly couples?" har har. The more women I saw coming in and out of the exam rooms, and filling seats in the waiting room the more comforted I was. I wanted to shout out, "There are others like us! We women can do this together! Your shoes are fabulous!"

Soon we were sitting in the doctor's office looking at various charts and graphs while the Dr went on and on about percentages and other stuff we didn't understand. What I still can't grasp is that I have "unexplained infertility." WTF is that? After all the testing and waiting and researching, the diagnosis is "Beats Me." How do we work with that? We were also told we have a 6% chance of conceiving on our own. B did not believe the Dr and told him so. B then diagnosed us with not having sex every minute of every day and thus not getting pregnant. The Dr explained that every male who comes into the office says the same thing, but that is not the case. B continued to disagree. I guess sometime in the last 8 years we've been together B acquired a medical license without my knowledge. It was embarassing. They finally came to an understanding but I know B still thinks he's right.

We decided to try insemination. This entails my getting bloodwork every week, ultrasounds, taking a medicine that's notorious for making women crazy (because I need anymore of that), and finally another catheter shoved up my hooha full of B's junk. Sign me up!