3.. 2.. 1.. GO!
Oh look, it's yet another post in the ongoing saga of "oh for the love of god, will you either get pregnant or shut up about it already".
Well, we're almost there. And when I say"we" I mean "we" as in all of us, because I'm really enjoying having a couple hundred of you along for the ride. I like knowing that a lot of you have been there (and been there, and been there) but I also hope that this has been an informative little peek into the world of infertility for some of you.
And now, on with the show, because tomorrow's the big day! After an epic amount of waffling and no small amount of coaxing from my colleagues, I finally decided to take the whole day off. We have to show up at the clinic for 10:30, and I have to have a 'very full' bladder. The nurse suggested I drink a litre or more of water starting around 10:00. (Do you think a litre of Tim's coffee would be an acceptable subsitute?)
Around the time we show up at the clinic, we'll know whether frostie has survived the thaw, about an 80 per cent probability. The actual procedure will be at 11:30. (Are you squirming at thinking of sitting on a 'very full' bladder in a waiting room for an hour? Because I sure am.) I think they encourage me to have a little rest for another 20 minutes or so after the transfer - and who am I to say no to the rare opportunity for a daytime nap? - and then we should be out of there by 12:30 at the latest. We arranged for the caregiver to take the boys on Thursday instead of Wednesday this week, so Beloved will be there for the whole thing, and then we're going out to an afternoon matinee after that.
The only decision that remains is whether to see Pirates of the Carribean, Superman, or You, Me and Dupree. I'm leaning toward a little Johnny Depp action, if only I can claim later in life that he had some impact on my fertility and reproductive capability.
Don't you love it when a plan comes together despite a complete absence of planning on your part? Yet another sign from the universe that we're on the right track!
I wish I had something more coherent for you today. I don't even have a cute anecdote from the boys to apologize for this week's relentlessly self-obsessed drivel. Bear with me, we're almost done, and soon I will get my head out of my reproductive tract and turn my gaze back to the rest of the world. But, although it's a tight call, my reproductive tract is still marginally less scary than the rest of the world just now.
I'm floundering for a way to end this that doesn't seem like I'm fishing for a sea of "good luck!" comments (hey, lookit that - flounder, fishing, sea - and I didn't even do that on purpose!!) but other than my newly discovered marine theme, I got nothing.
Um, so - how's life with you these days? Oh wait, here's another idea - we could play "Infertility Questions". As in, if you have any questions about infertility treatments or the emotional rollercoaster or any of that stuff, me and my panel of experts will answer them for you. Or, you could tell me about your dog, or your goldfish, or just about anything to distract me from tomorrow.
(And if you think this is bad, you ain't seen nothing until you've seen the new low in neurotic obsession that is the 'two week wait'. Stay tuned, it's likely to get ugly.)
Well, we're almost there. And when I say"we" I mean "we" as in all of us, because I'm really enjoying having a couple hundred of you along for the ride. I like knowing that a lot of you have been there (and been there, and been there) but I also hope that this has been an informative little peek into the world of infertility for some of you.
And now, on with the show, because tomorrow's the big day! After an epic amount of waffling and no small amount of coaxing from my colleagues, I finally decided to take the whole day off. We have to show up at the clinic for 10:30, and I have to have a 'very full' bladder. The nurse suggested I drink a litre or more of water starting around 10:00. (Do you think a litre of Tim's coffee would be an acceptable subsitute?)
Around the time we show up at the clinic, we'll know whether frostie has survived the thaw, about an 80 per cent probability. The actual procedure will be at 11:30. (Are you squirming at thinking of sitting on a 'very full' bladder in a waiting room for an hour? Because I sure am.) I think they encourage me to have a little rest for another 20 minutes or so after the transfer - and who am I to say no to the rare opportunity for a daytime nap? - and then we should be out of there by 12:30 at the latest. We arranged for the caregiver to take the boys on Thursday instead of Wednesday this week, so Beloved will be there for the whole thing, and then we're going out to an afternoon matinee after that.
The only decision that remains is whether to see Pirates of the Carribean, Superman, or You, Me and Dupree. I'm leaning toward a little Johnny Depp action, if only I can claim later in life that he had some impact on my fertility and reproductive capability.
Don't you love it when a plan comes together despite a complete absence of planning on your part? Yet another sign from the universe that we're on the right track!
I wish I had something more coherent for you today. I don't even have a cute anecdote from the boys to apologize for this week's relentlessly self-obsessed drivel. Bear with me, we're almost done, and soon I will get my head out of my reproductive tract and turn my gaze back to the rest of the world. But, although it's a tight call, my reproductive tract is still marginally less scary than the rest of the world just now.
I'm floundering for a way to end this that doesn't seem like I'm fishing for a sea of "good luck!" comments (hey, lookit that - flounder, fishing, sea - and I didn't even do that on purpose!!) but other than my newly discovered marine theme, I got nothing.
Um, so - how's life with you these days? Oh wait, here's another idea - we could play "Infertility Questions". As in, if you have any questions about infertility treatments or the emotional rollercoaster or any of that stuff, me and my panel of experts will answer them for you. Or, you could tell me about your dog, or your goldfish, or just about anything to distract me from tomorrow.
(And if you think this is bad, you ain't seen nothing until you've seen the new low in neurotic obsession that is the 'two week wait'. Stay tuned, it's likely to get ugly.)
Labels: Frostie, Infertility
Said DaniGirl at 6:34 a.m. #
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