I went in for my first ultrasound feeling very positive. It was in the New Orleans room, complete with pictures and beads. David and I fell in love in New Orleans 6 years ago, so I took it as a good sign.
Winnie was my nurse that day and she was very excited to see if my follicles grew. She turned on the machine, and I could quickly tell by the tone of her voice that we hadn't made progress. It's that faux, perky kind of "OoooKay! This is oookay!" voice that gave it away.
"Winnie," I said, "I ordered the BIG SHOT that I'm supposed to get when my follicles grow. If my follicles don't grow, what do I do with the BIG SHOT?!"
Winnie explained I should keep that big shot at home (that big needle chuckled when she said that) and just wait a few days; maybe my follicles were late bloomers?
I went home and panicked for 3 days until the next ultrasound, starting each morning by putting my hands over my tummy and singing, "Grow, follicles! Grow! Yooou can dooo it!" David occasionally sang back-up. "Grow, Grow!"
Winnie greeted me in Kauai for my next appointment and smiled. My friends honeymooned in Kauai. Was that a sign?
"You ready for some follicles, girl?!" I was, but I had a gut feeling that nothing else had happened. And my guts have a pretty high IQ.
Winnie told me that the next step was to add injectable fertility drugs into the cycle to try and get things rolling. I was in NO way ready to hear that and even FURTHER away from making a decision about it. Injectable fertility drugs were for people who really couldn't get pregnant. After I had a mild panic attack, she told me how much they cost. This took me straight from panic attack to delusional. I'm pretty sure the Carebears and the Smurfs walked in right after she told me and started fighting and sticking each other with needles, screaming, "AHHH! WE'RE GOING CRAZY!!! EVERYTHING'S GONE WRONG! AHHHH!"
David's immediate reaction was, "Alright, let's do it." Easy for him to say. My reaction was, "With every step we take to try and have kids, I become less and less a female and more and more a BattleShip Game Board. Do I hang out and let them continue sticking me until they sink the whole ship?!"
I couldn't do it. Instead, we waited 2 more days in case the follicles decided to grow, but I never had much hope. I knew this cycle was a complete wash and that we were going to have to wait weeks until we could start the process over again. I was very depressed.
Pam did the final ultrasound, and even her infectious joy couldn't bring me back up from the depths of fertility pergatory. And because we waited an extra 2 days, it was too late to try the injectables. Pam, trying to be helpful, told me, "It'll happen! I had 3 girls today, boom boom boom, all 3 pregnant with just the oral drugs. We'll get there!" Awesome. Three girls, all pregnant. So that makes me the barren 28-year-old with no hope of ever fulfilling my purpose here on Earth: to scream in unintelligable pain for 20 hours or so, raise a child and care for it's every need for the next 18 years, and send it away to a school that costs more than Trump Tower. Wait...why am I doing this?
I was sent back to Telluride to wait for a nurse to talk to me about our options. I've never been to Telluride, except for the day Pam told me I had PCOS. I hated Telluride.
I cried a few tears while Dave said, "It's fine. We'll be fine."
“It’s not fine!” I snapped. “It’s my only job! I’m the girl and I make the babies! And I can’t do my job if my follicles won’t grow.”
Pam came back in and saw tears in my eyes. She put her hand on my back and said, "No! Don't cry! We just have to find the recipe, sweetie. We will find it and I promise, we will get you pregnant."
"Promise?" I asked, like a crying 5-year-old.
"Promise." Pam smiled.
Isn’t Pam cute?