Not So Bad
The following entry was originally posted HERE.
*****
Because it’s the 4th of July there were no workday commuters on the road so we breezed onto the 7:05 ferry and Delia shot her load for the lab early. While we were waiting for them to prep and analyze it, my brother-in-law brought our nephew Mr. Squishypants down to meet us for breakfast at McDonald’s. Seeing his two year old self running with a huge grin down the sidewalk to meet us and listening to him giggle and pronounce all of his new words with so much babyish concentration and accomplishment was bliss, and of course a huge reminder of why we’re going through all of this to try to get pregnant. Seeing my family on his face and in his expressions, seeing my sister and my grandpa and my grandma and my mom and even myself radiating from him is like being reborn into a world with more love.
The only medical office open in the entire many-floored building was the fertility clinic so we knew that everyone we saw coming in and going out was there for the same reason we were, and there were A LOT of people which was both reassuring and depressing. In my typical asshole fashion I couldn’t help judging the people I saw and comparing myself to them. The first people I really took notice of were a somewhat unattractive couple with an overweight lady in high water track pants. I couldn’t help feeling like “here we are: all of nature’s duds who aren’t supposed to breed.” I prayed that our cup ‘o cum wouldn’t get mixed up with theirs.
We had a couple of hours to observe the other “duds”. While I assessed them from a distance, trying to pinpoint their problems I promised Delia that I wouldn’t allow myself to say shitty things like this once we have a kid, but look at her, the one in the designer camo sweatpants and glossy black bag: that dud is anorexic. No wonder she can’t get pregnant! And listen to this other one with the smoker’s cough sucking down the coffee; her man looks healthy enough but they don’t stand a chance with what that girl’s doing to her body. The duds by the window? She’s clearly over forty.
I knew I should be ashamed of myself; do I want my child to be a judgmental ass the way I am, looking at total strangers and rejecting them them as “duds” in my head to make myself feel better about my own inadequacies?
Then we saw a beautiful couple, younger than we are, the picture of all-American vitality. I felt so much better after I saw them. They looked like the kind of people who never have anything go wrong for them. It made me feel better having them in our pool of duds, knowing that not all of us are so easy to point at and diagnose as being infertile because of natural selection. Maybe we’re just impatient. Maybe we’re “special”. Maybe the things that are right with us are more important than whatever is wrong. Or maybe nothing was “wrong” with the perfect breeder couple. Maybe they’re only in the big city for the holiday weekend before he heads off to war and is just banking some sperm for the love of his life to use in case he dies or gets his nuts blown off in Iraq. Who knows?
Last night after my nervous, bitchy anxiety mini-attack over stupid things (worrying about being late, worrying about driving, grinding my teeth with resentment over the shitty timing of things and the potential of missing one of the few things I love doing with a large group of strangers: watching fireworks) I had another attack, this one of self-loathing. Am I ready to be a parent when I deal so poorly with such tiny monkey wrenches being thrown into my plans? How would I feel if I had a kid who acted as ridiculously as I act? I’m going to screw my kid up by being a tense little asshole! No wonder I can’t get pregnant!! BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING SHITHEAD!!! I should stop now before I create new life just to ruin it with my craziness!
But then it was morning and I didn’t feel like an asshole anymore and good songs came on the radio while we were driving. Cowboy Junkies version of “Sweet Jane” off the Trinity Session at 5:53 am was surely a sign as was “Closer to Fine” on the way home. I can’t believe there was a huge time in my life where I could sing along to that entire song without choking up and crying.
*****
The doctor stood there with the sealed envelope and told us it contained our report with Delia’s sperm analysis. Even though we know her sperm is good, it was like fucking Oscar night or something waiting for him to rip it open and tell us if we were winners, especially since she shot a big load just day before yesterday: 36 million and some other numbers I didn’t catch. They never tell you what is average or what would be considered superstud strength, they only tell you they’re looking for a number over 10 million.
It was the same doctor who did my HSG (I thought I blogged about that, but I guess I didn’t — oops) so I felt comfortable that I was in good hands. He showed me the catheter and explained what he’d be doing. Of course I expected cramps, especially since I couldn’t take any anti-inflammatory meds this time, but things started getting tense when he had to throw the catheter into the sink and get another one. More poking and cramping that felt like it HAD to be penetration and another catheter thrown in the sink as he explained that it had no bearing on my ability to get pregnant, but that my cervix is angled, ACUTELY angled (because of my tipped uterus), in such a way that it just makes his job a wee bit harder. Before he threw the third catheter in the sink he showed me how the soft tip simply bent over when being confronted with my cervix. Finally with the fourth catheter he got it threaded in all the way and shot me up with Delia’s specially washed sperm. We stayed in the exam room with me lying on my back for the recommended fifteen minutes to allow the sperm to swim up my tubes and I wished we’d brought our cameras because we could have shot some gyn porn or at least behind the scenes footage all that time. I was tempted to steal one of the catheters and our syringe, but worried we’d get “caught” and be thought of as freaks even though it’s all just garbage and we PAID for that garbage. Oh well.
I’m feeling mildly crampy and uncomfortable tonight, but I don’t know if that’s the after-effects of the IUI or general ovulation crampiness heightened by the Clomid which can get bad enough that it wakes me up at night. Anyway, it’s not exactly painful right now, just vaguely sore, tender and tight-feeling.
Now we’ve got another two week wait.
Tags: clinic, conception attempts, emotions, fears, fertility treatments, infertility, IUI, personal reproduction story, trying to conceive
