I feel like a guy

I always imagined after my first IUI that I would get together with girlfriends (the ones who know) and have a nice dinner or some kind of ritual gathering to talk about it.  But, due to the maybe-maybe not timing of it, plus the sudden desire to just be alone and quiet with my thoughts, I decided to spend yesterday afternoon and evening by myself.

Now when I say “be quiet with my thoughts”, I mean get in bed and watch one of my all time favorite documentaries for like the bajillionth time, Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, followed by a streaming documentary about Norwegian death metal, followed by This is Spinal Tap just to lighten things up.  Why this odd choice of post-insemination films?  I’ve been thinking about this for the last twenty four hours and the only thing I can come up with is this: because I felt like a guy.

Umm…why would a woman who might just be getting pregnant right now think she’s a guy?  I’ll tell you why – in the word we choice mom types use so much: it’s because I felt totally empowered.  The feeling of empowerment dimmed a bit when I thought I had a bunch of fertility issues (and hey, I may still, who knows), but just being given the thumbs up and going through with this thing I set out to do back in November made me feel like the king of the world.  King, not queen.  And today when I was driving around I was compelled to blast kick ass rock ‘n roll at ear splitting volumes and bang my head along with it.  I noticed I do this whenever I feel good, active, in control.  And thank God, now is one of those times.

Despite the fact that I spend much of my life dressed as if it’s the 1940s and following a man’s lead on the dance floor, I’ve never considered myself much of a girl.  You won’t see me losing it over some new hair product or spending myself into bankruptcy over shoes.  I’ve always thought I had a pretty masculine energy (which is a large part of my theory as to why men find me so unappealing).  I don’t mind this about myself; in fact, I think having to be father and mother to the as yet unborn (possibly un-conceived) child this quality of mine may come in handy.

When I was at the clinic for my ultrasound on Friday a very butch lesbian came in, with a track suit and faux hawk, to pick up her vials “for the weekend”.  There was a lot of discussion about how to store the nitrogen tank, all the waivers, etc, as I sat there pretending to play Scrabble on my phone.  I so wanted to reach out to her and say, “hey, good luck,” or something supportive, but I didn’t want to intrude on her privacy.  It did make me think about masculinity and femininity in women, though, and how no matter how much of each you may have or not have, that urge to be a mom is still there.  I think that’s pretty cool.  I hope she (or her girlfriend) hit it this weekend and have fun doing it.  I know I did.

So as we speak there may be cells dividing in me.  When I think about this, I get all happy.  I’ve had low baseline cramping on and off ever since, and a little spotting, but I was assured this is normal (minor freak out last night when I thought I may have gotten an infection, but read and re-read the info a thousand times until I convinced myself I was fine).  I also had a minor freak out today when I started reading about other men’s sperm count, motility, etc, and saw that this guy’s numbers aren’t exactly perfect…but this is based on Wikipedia, and everything is different when it’s “after wash” and all that, so many factors.  I guess I just have to take the clinic at their word that this guy is above normal (they did show me his numbers compared to the average, and they were way above average, but they didn’t give me that paper to take home, darn it).  So I haven’t been without my odd moments.

But here’s what I’m not doing (yet).  I’m not putting all my hopes on this one IUI.  I’m not looking for symptoms that can’t possibly exist yet.  I’m not planning on testing until I know the likelihood of a false result has passed (will really try to hold out until at least Friday the 22^nd…but I can’t promise anything).  I’m not assuming all my weird issues have suddenly disappeared – tomorrow the clinic is going to call and tell me if I should take progesterone or not; I have egg quality to worry about, the timing of this one was kind of wonky, etc etc.  Only ¼ of women “hit it” the first time, and of those 1 in 3 will miscarry (at my age).  But you know what?  This also means I have a 1 in 4 chance of this working, and a 2 out of 3 chance of it sticking.  I think I’ll focus on that instead of the negatives (for once). 

I feel good and peaceful.  I’m just delighted the “journey” has begun, no more revving my engines at the gate for months. 

I often envisioned my walk from parking my car to the clinic and wondered what it would be like, what I would be thinking, what song would be on KROQ as I slid into the parking space.  I had a vision of myself panicking, my throat closing up.  I imagined myself suddenly waxing nostalgic for my old carefree childless life and asking myself if I really wanted to give that up FOREVER.  I pictured myself crying on the table in the dark with my pelvis unnaturally raised, thinking about how sad and pathetic it was that “it came to this”.  Boy was I wrong about ALL of this, and I am SO, SO glad.  As mentioned yesterday, I felt nothing but good, happy, and excited.  And despite what I’ve written occasionally here in my darkest moments, this method of motherhood didn’t seem second rate to me AT ALL.  It felt great, and so right for me.  For sure it’s not for everyone, but I truly believe that this is my “path”. Oh, and the song playing on the radio was Bad Religion’s “Sorrow”, as in There will be sorrow no more, which seemed appropriate.

I spoke to a girlfriend yesterday who’s seen the darkest side of male nature and says she’s thinking about freezing her eggs and maybe taking this route some day (she’s a bit younger so has time to work all this out).  She said something great.  She said, “I’m not going to let my fertility pass me by just because I’m surrounded by idiots”.  I told her we should make T shirts emblazoned with this.  I’d wear it, with my big pregnant belly sticking out of the bottom.  And rock out to Metallica.  Proudly.

PS – did you know Metallica’s James Hetfield lost his mother to the same crazy religion that’s killing mine?  Interesting.