And so we started all over again.
I remembered how it's done. It's not like I had much to fear. The BIG SHOT and I had already faced off. Those little shots made their attacks more than once, so I knew what to expect there. And I'd already felt the affects of a negative result. The worst thing that can happen is the same thing. And if the same thing is the worst thing, then I'm in much better shape this time around.
We decided to try something called IUI for this cycle. It stands for (hold your ears if you're easily grossed out by lady-parts words) Intra-Uterine Insemination. Basically, they get those little swimmers a lot closer to the egg than we could have if we were trying to conceive naturally. Instead of road maps and stop signs, it's sort of like a bus that drops them off at the right stop, then shoves them out the door and drives away shouting, "NORTH!"
Some may have thought it was a little bit pre-mature to move up a level in the game of fertility. But David doesn't like games. He decided the second we learned we weren't pregnant the last time that this is what he wanted to do. And I love when he makes decisions, so I went along with it. (David and I can get stuck at the end of our driveway for 20 minutes waiting for one of us to make the decision about whether to start walking to the right or to the left.)
The day I was to start taking the fertility goodness pills I was in Vero (where I grew up) with one of my best friends. We had been invited to judge a drama competition. These were the same competitions we prepared for every year when we were in high school. We had such a great day, cracking up quietly about how much these kids reminded us of, well, us. Super dramatic, very serious about their art, complete nerds, and, of course, accompanied by overcompensating drama teachers who obviously never made it as actors.
When we got our lunch break, we were served by the students themselves. The lunch was fair but it was absolutely adorable watching the kids cook and serve. I felt like such a grown up that day.
I took out my fertility pills and counted them at the lunch table. I held them under the table cloth in my hand. I lifted the cloth and showed my friend.
"What is that?"
"That's the fertility goodness. Say a prayer they work!"
My friend held my hands in his, lowered his head, and was silent for several seconds. There we sat, at a 6-top in the middle of the high school culinary classroom with a bunch of other drama teachers and actors, and we were bowing our heads in prayer over fertility pills. And as soon as we said "Amen" and raised our heads, I leaned my head back, popped the pills and slugged some water. I was so appreciative of my friend's support and the fact that he didn't care how strange it looked to pray over pills at a drama competition.
I smiled while we walked back to the judging room after lunch, acting much the same as I did when I was in High School: full of joy, walking next to one of my best friends, and making fun of kids who weren't as cool as us. And trust me, there were PLENTY who weren't as cool as us.