First off, lots of excitement around my new business venture. I went live with my Red's Edits website and Facebook page yesterday, and the feedback has been so wonderful I could float away by the sheer strength of my own giddiness. Thank you, family and friends, for this powerful burst of support. It is seriously motivating.
The other source of excitement: on Monday we had our first sperm shooting appointment. As I mentioned last post, I was tracking my cycle. This means I was hastily doing several ovulation "predictor kits" every morning in the midst of my regular daily routine. Hey, the more predictor kits, the more solid the prediction, right? I mean, isn't that what they say? No?
I'm not actually so neurotic that I would go out and buy multiple predictor kits, okay? It just so happened that a good friend was kind enough to bestow two of her kits upon me. But one of them, a fancy little compute-y gadget, was already calibrated to her cycle, and the instruction booklet advised not to put all my eggs in its basket. As it were.
So Thayer went out and got me my own kit, and I continued using all three just for funzies. Plus the P-Tracker app on my iPhone, which is basically a glorified calendar.
Well. P-Tracker was convinced Sunday would be my lucky day, and what do you know -- Sunday morning all my devices were a-bling with ovulatory excitement. They were all very psyched for me, what with their double pink test lines and their digital egg graphics.
Next day, I called the doc and the fertility clinic sperm storer-thawers and told them it was game on. I went in that afternoon and picked up "THE SPECIMEN."
Half my future baby might be in there?
I know what you're thinking. "Surely they didn't just send you off with the vial all exposed and unprotected like that!"
Oh, come on. Of course they didn't.
They sent me off with the vile cradled in the safety of this foam coffee cup stuffed with tissues.
It was not actually hot, as the lid so thoughtfully cautioned.
So, off I went across the skybridge to the medical tower next door, sperm lockbox in hand. Thayer met me in the waiting room there--ten minutes late. I was so afraid the doc would come out and summon me all business business business. "We wait for no man!" she'd say. And Thayer would miss it all.
Instead, Thayer and I waited there together for another half hour or so.
Finally we were called in and the doc was friendly and supportive and sweet as pie. I hopped up on the exam table, glamorous as can be, and Thayer patted my arm while the doc proclaimed everything "gorgeous" and shot the sperm. Only slightly ouchy. Over in a flash.
And then she sent us off with sincere well wishes, but not before advising us not to start preggo testing for AT LEAST TWO WEEKS.
That's a joke, right? I'm supposed to chill out for two weeks not knowing what's going on in there? This is the year 2011, is it not? You're telling me there's no fancy robot that can tell me the verdict instantaneously? I'm calling bullsh*t.
To celebrate and calm down and divert our attention, we went out for pizza, because only pizza can solve problems such as these.
Here's happy Thayer on the drive to the pizza:
"You're a dork," he is saying, because...
Here's happy me on the drive to the pizza:
This upside-down thing is totes going to work, guys.
Well, dear readers, that's it for Round 1. I'll let you know how it went IN TWO WEEKS when our ancient detection methods start picking up signals.
In the meantime, I'mma see if Frank and Stu have any special animal sensing powers. I bet they do. They'll tell me for sure.
No comments:
Post a Comment