First of all, did anyone hear them say BabyGate on Glee last week? David and I both jumped off the couch. Clearly they've been reading my blog. Hi Mr. Shu!
The third shot was easy and quick. In fact, Dave administered the fertility goodness while I was laying on the bed watching TV and while he was drinking a beer.
After three days, it was as easy as and peeling a hard-boiled egg and pairing it with bacon every single morning for the rest of my life God I wish I could stop eating all this meat…
It was around that third shot that I began to feel tired and lumpy. I wasn’t getting much exercise because the doctor told me cardio would release the “wrong hormones”. I was eating more meat than I had in my entire life. My body was no longer lean and mean. It was kind of soft and apathetic instead. My butt, three months prior a taught and stand-up gal, just kind of laid down for a nap. My arms previously sported a hot little line that shouted “Check me out! I’m muscles!” The skin used to stretch tightly over my well-defined thighs and calves, but no more. And my stomach. Oh my stomach. I’m not sure I even want to say something witty about it. It’s that bad.
And because my body was taking the A-Train south, I was losing interest in my yoga and ball pilates. The alarm clock still went off every morning at 6:15. And I still hit the snooze button. The only difference was that I hit the “alarm off” button right after I hit the snooze button and slept until 7:30. I started to get the idea that my food might be making me depressed.
At about the same time, a couple David was working out with recommended we see a nutritionist to help me regulate my sugar when I eventually became pregnant. He came home and told me we HAD to go meet with this doctor because from everything he heard, this guy could really help us. Great idea, right? ANOTHER doctor. As if the bills we had piled up on our credit cards were getting lonely and needed a new doctor to play with. But he wouldn’t let it go. Everyday he left me a reminder to call them. Every night he asked me when I might want to go. Finally, one morning, he sent me an email from our house reading, “Put a star on this email. Tomorrow, when you start work, call and make an appointment and then you can remove the star.” Damnit. He appealed to the joy I carry in marking things off a checklist. He got me.
Before we could go meet this new doctor, I had to go into the fertility doctor’s office to see if my follicles had responded to the shots. We had to go in on a Sunday, much to the doctors’ and nurses’ delights I’m sure. The ultrasound was fast and the picture that flashed on the screen dazzled our eyes!
“17cm.” The doctor said.
“Woooooow.” David and I said. We’d never made one that big!
“You’ll be ready for the HCG shot tomorrow. You can do that one at home too…”
“NO.” Maybe I shouted it a little too quickly, as to somehow imply that I didn’t trust my husband with the longest needle in the world. “I mean, I would rather a nurse do that.” Both the nurse and the doctor set their pens down and looked at me. David put his head down. I started explaining. “No no, he did a great job with the other shots. I mean there was that little mishap with the wrong needle and almost puncturing my uterus, but we’re over that now and I totally trust him to….”
The nurse laughed. “It’s fine. Just come in tomorrow morning and we’ll fit you in.”
It was the last step before we could actually try and get pregnant. The last thing we needed to do in a doctor’s office. After this, it was just us and nature. Nature had let me down before, but I was willing to lay back and trust that it would happen when it was meant to happen. And everyone in the office knew it would be this time. And secretly, I thought they were right.