It was at this point that I was writing in my journal everyday about “feelings” and “dreams”. I wrote so much that I started to lose the focus of my life. Everyday became a big pity party.
Waaah, we have no money.
Waaah, I can’t eat cookies.
Waaah, I’m infertile.
So I stopped writing in my journal. I dropped out of the Google School for Doctors (much to my mother’s dismay, but at least I’ve still got Google Law School). I quit reading books related to pregnancy and, I know you won’t believe this, but I stopped watching A Baby Story. Instead, I made a game out of cooking on the cheap and reusing old clothes to make new outfits. I planned fun and free things to do with my husband and dogs. I watched funny movies and went to football games. I got so wrapped up enjoying life without fertility-cycle-on-the-brain, I almost FORGOT to take my first million dollar fertility pill!
The injectables with all the needles made it to my house in a box on the porch. That seemed ridiculous to me. "Hey Erin, where are the needles we need to have a baby?"
"Oh, they're on the porch in a box."
The box sat out on my kitchen counter next to the receipts basket and the dog treats. I figured setting them out in the open gave them less power than hiding them in the cabinet. “The vegetables are just up the counter from you. And I’m not scared of vegetables. What, now, needles?”
The first ultrasound visit of the cycle came a week after the first million dollar pill. The nurses, who all knew me by name at this point, said hi and asked about my life. I was a person to them, not just a patient. I almost felt like we were all friends who met up once a week to look at each other’s ovaries. This made it a fairly weird friendship, but a friendship none-the-less.
I sat up on the table waiting for Winnie or Pam to come in and see me. Dave sat next to me reading a pregnancy magazine. I was taken aback when Dr. New York walked in. Dr. New York is A MAN. A MAN who wanted to give me an internal ultrasound. I started getting flushed and flustered. I automatically started talking about football, hoping we could relate and find common ground before he started “working.” Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to any of his responses. I just watched his hands as they stretched the gloves and reached towards the ultrasound machine. Thankfully, my husband continued the football-related fodder while I sat stunned. Winnie popped her head in and smiled. I looked at her, sending her telepathic messages hoping she could read them and understand this was an urgent situation! Code Blue! A man is in this room attempting to do my internal ultrasound. A MAN!
Winnie does not understand the fundamentals of telepathy. She just waved and walked back out. So I held my breath and hoped I could focus on his questions without crying and yelling, “YOU’RE A MAN!”
It all went away when I saw the screen. The pills worked this month! I grew 11cm follicles! This was twice the size they were at the same time during the previous month. And there was more than one! “Great,” Dr. New York The Man said. “We can go ahead and start the injectables! I just hope you don’t have too many follicles grow because you are responding so well!”
You hear that?! OVERACHIEVER!
“We don’t want you to be the next octo-mom, so we’ll keep a close eye on everything, but so far this is great.” Hahaha! We all laughed and slapped our knees. Oh Dr. New York The Man! Octo-Mom Jokes! Ohhh, what a hoot. What a gay old time this is! Progress and jokes. Could this day get better?!
“Sally will take you into the other room to teach you how to do the injections.”
I looked at Dave.
“Who does the injections?!”
“You do. Or your husband, if that makes you more comfortable.”
Husband sticking me with needles: COMFORTABLE FAIL.