Well hello there, thanks for stopping in and reading! This is my first attempt at a blog post, it’s a little long, but hopefully you enjoy!
I had, shall I say, weird choices when it came to television viewing in my youth. My eight-year-old self would compulsive watch the true-story melodrama that was ‘Baby M’. How is this relevant? It’s not, and it is. The movie coincidentally deals with a married couple, and the wife, for medical reasons, cannot give birth to her own child and enlists the help of surrogate. No, I’m not using a surrogate. I probably won’t ever use a surrogate, which I can blame directly on the Baby M case. Not familiar? Please go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby_M
What is relevant, and permanently ingrained in my brain after binge watching this movie on VHS an estimated two-hundred times, is a quote from the movie. “It’s always the same thing: you rush, rush, rush and then you got a wait, wait, wait.”
I think about that quote every day in the context of how hard I work at this baby-making business at the beginning of every cycle: rushing from the reproductive doctor for my ultrasound within the first three days of my period, then to the pharmacy to pick up one script, only having to come back the next day to get the ovulation trigger shot because its a “special order”. There is a slight reprieve from the doctor for the week I take the oral medications. Then it’s back for another ultrasound, where an always polite woman tells you when you can have sex with your husband, when to take the shot, and if you collect your husband’s sperm at home, that you have to rush to make it to the office within an hour or else the sample won’t work for your IUI.
So me, in my ever present paranoia of running late anywhere- let alone a semen collection- will make my husband do his business at the doctor’s office, where a different but equally-nice woman says I can help but to remember “Hand help only, no oral”. Well that really puts a damper on the sexy atmosphere, doesn’t it? Secretly I worry that they might think we are taking to long to get the collection and I find becoming inpatient and trying to rush through it. Last time I became so frazzled I spilled coffee all over the floor of the collection room.
This is where the waiting begins. The sperm wash takes almost an hour, and I begin to panic, fearful they might have forgotten to pick up the cup with the stuff and it’s just sitting there rotting away. I’m near full-fledged anxiety attack when they call me back. The insemination takes only seconds. I have to stare at the ceiling for five to fifteen-minutes (there is no exact rhyme or reason as to how long they make you stay) and then I’m free to go home, where I wait more. Two-weeks of waiting, acting as-if I were pregnant- per their rules, not any delusional state of my own- before I can take a pregnancy test. Two-weeks of no wine, no ibuprofen, a serious reduction in coffee intake (which is near impossible for this night-shifter nurse) and two-weeks of feelings of hope and despair that sometimes hit at the same time and I’ll cry, but I’m not sure if I’m crying out of loss of hope or expectant happiness.
This has happened every month, with minor variations, for the last six months. It’s like an awful version of ‘Groundhog Day’ without Bill Murray or that cute groundhog. Or even that episode of X-Files, ‘Monday’, which had Scully and Mulder relieving the worst day of their lives over and over and over again. Great stuff on TV, not so great in real life.
Now I’m smack in the middle of that two-week wait. I think this moment I’m neither joyful or depressed. Just keeping busy, starting a blog. Basically waiting.