It is Saturday morning and I am sitting at home, licking my wounds. Not literally, of course, because the wounds happen to be on my insides. Today was IUI Round #2 and boy, it was about as romantic as a root canal. Actually, a root canal hurts less I think. My body wouldn't cooperate today so the doctor had to use a clamp on my cervix. That's right. It is about as painful as it sounds. Ouch.
Whatever humor I found in driving around with sperm, etc., was gone about oh, two seconds into the procedure. Of course, if it worked then it was worth it. If it didn't work... Well, let's not think about that yet.
Note to self: I should have had that cosmo with dinner last night. Darn. I could really use one right now. I am going to spend the rest of the day on the couch and nursing Drew, who is also sick as a puppy.
On a different note... I wrote this piece on The Nervous Breakdown last week and I've been getting some interesting feedback about it. I do appreciate all the comments, but on the other hand it feels like the comments are evaluating the relationship I wrote about. I know it's not really true. But when someone writes that they would love to read more about it, or that the story left them dangling, I feel like saying "well, welcome to my world." I sure would have liked to know more and I was left dangling too.
I am not bitter, or anything. It all happened a lifetime ago and a continent away.
My brother said that he is jealous that I had this big love in my life that is worthy of writing about. True, but what does that say about all the other loves - including the current one - that I don't write about? Why is it harder to write about something that is quiet and constant and safe? Drew read the piece too and he said that he loved me and my "dark, dark past." Snort. Never thought of myself as someone with a past, but I guess I do have one.
Showing posts with label ovaries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ovaries. Show all posts
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Fertility Hilarity
Warning: over sharing happening below. If you are squeamish, turn away now.
Today was Operation "Turkey Basting" as Drew and I lovingly refer to a simple little procedure called intrauterine insemination. The doctor takes Drew's sperm, and when my eggs are all happy and ready, he injects the boys into my uterus. Simple. So today right around noon, I found myself driving down Route 1 between Saco and Scarborough with a small jar of "sample" between my boobs.
The morning started with several dilemmas: What to wear? I had to keep the "sample" warm and stable. I opted for a simple black plunge bra that provides enough lift and separation to accommodate the jar. Perfect. Another thing to ponder: Turnpike or Route 1? I had exactly 30 minutes to make it to my doctor's office, which on most days is enough, except for days when Saco decides to have the traffic of New York City.
I was lucky today and made it in less than 20 minutes. As I was walking from my car to the lab, I was amazed at how sort of nonchalantly I was able to walk around, knowing what was under my clothes. I even made small-talk in the elevator with another woman - who knows what she was hiding in her bra?
So, I went straight to the lab, where nurse Dolores asked me my birthday like, a hundred times. Then Drew's birthday. Then the spelling of my name, followed by the usual "oh, that's so pretty, where are you from?" comments. Come on woman! I've got a jar full of sperm under my shirt and we are discussing nationalities??? She finally got to the important part. "So, do you have the sample?" Well, yes I do. But what is the best way to get it out? There were other people around me and since I am still new at this, I was a little sheepish about handing some other woman my husband's sperm practically in the middle of a waiting room. But there was nothing else to do, but to reach into my sweater and pull out the cup. Whew. Boys safely delivered. Dolores never batted an eye.
By that time Drew was there too and we spent an hour in the waiting room looking at magazines. Note to self: If I ever do get pregnant, I have to stay away from these. It seems like every single cute baby picture is followed by some horrific story about sore nipples and hemorrhoids. Ick.
The rest of the procedure was pretty painless and speckled with inappropriate sperm jokes courtesy of my doctor. He is awesome. I won't know if this worked for a couple of weeks, but I hope that I will be able to find all of this funny even if I do have to do it two or three or four more times.
Today was Operation "Turkey Basting" as Drew and I lovingly refer to a simple little procedure called intrauterine insemination. The doctor takes Drew's sperm, and when my eggs are all happy and ready, he injects the boys into my uterus. Simple. So today right around noon, I found myself driving down Route 1 between Saco and Scarborough with a small jar of "sample" between my boobs.
The morning started with several dilemmas: What to wear? I had to keep the "sample" warm and stable. I opted for a simple black plunge bra that provides enough lift and separation to accommodate the jar. Perfect. Another thing to ponder: Turnpike or Route 1? I had exactly 30 minutes to make it to my doctor's office, which on most days is enough, except for days when Saco decides to have the traffic of New York City.
I was lucky today and made it in less than 20 minutes. As I was walking from my car to the lab, I was amazed at how sort of nonchalantly I was able to walk around, knowing what was under my clothes. I even made small-talk in the elevator with another woman - who knows what she was hiding in her bra?
So, I went straight to the lab, where nurse Dolores asked me my birthday like, a hundred times. Then Drew's birthday. Then the spelling of my name, followed by the usual "oh, that's so pretty, where are you from?" comments. Come on woman! I've got a jar full of sperm under my shirt and we are discussing nationalities??? She finally got to the important part. "So, do you have the sample?" Well, yes I do. But what is the best way to get it out? There were other people around me and since I am still new at this, I was a little sheepish about handing some other woman my husband's sperm practically in the middle of a waiting room. But there was nothing else to do, but to reach into my sweater and pull out the cup. Whew. Boys safely delivered. Dolores never batted an eye.
By that time Drew was there too and we spent an hour in the waiting room looking at magazines. Note to self: If I ever do get pregnant, I have to stay away from these. It seems like every single cute baby picture is followed by some horrific story about sore nipples and hemorrhoids. Ick.
The rest of the procedure was pretty painless and speckled with inappropriate sperm jokes courtesy of my doctor. He is awesome. I won't know if this worked for a couple of weeks, but I hope that I will be able to find all of this funny even if I do have to do it two or three or four more times.
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