One

So, guess what?  About 45 minutes ago I had my IUI.

I know, I can’t believe it either.  I went in yesterday for my ultrasound and the first thing they saw was my lining, which was a nice rich 8 mm.  This was a huge relief.  She then spent a few agonizing minutes rooting around trying to find my right ovary which was hiding behind my bladder.  She could see follicle activity, but couldn’t get it in a place where she could do a measurement.  So she couldn’t say when ovulation was going to take place, but that it definitely was this time.  And since I’m an old hand at the OPKs and temps at this point, I wasn’t so worried about when, but if.  And there are no more ifs.

So since my OPK still looked just a hair light Friday morning she advised me to test last night and see if it was darker or not, and call the clinic to schedule the IUI for today.  Since the test was lighter I assumed the LH surge was over, which meant the egg was imminent, so at about 1 AM I called for my appointment.  Which was at ten this morning.  Which means as we speak I have some stranger’s sperm hanging out in my uterus.  Hey, it won’t be the first time (chuckle).

So here is what it was like.  I slept amazingly well considering.  I decided not to do anything ritualistic – no good luck charms, no special outfits, no special songs on the Ipod.  Not because I’m cynical or judge others for doing these things, but because I may have to go through this many times, and, well, I don’t know…I think I thought I’d feel silly if I made too big a deal out of today.  It’s a chilly April morning in Los Angeles.  Big billowy clouds have been scudding across the skies for weeks; that bitter Pacific wind has been working hard.  I drove up to the clinic, now a well worn path.  Whenever I felt a rush of adrenaline I would breathe slow and long and it would pass.  When I got to the office I rang the bell several times but no one answered, so I sat and read a magazine article about Charlie Sheen (mom, that’s like, so 2011).  Finally I reached around and stole the bathroom key so I could expel anything that needed expelling.  Then they called me in.  I’m glad it was ultrasound lady and not the random guy who works there sometimes.  She had me sign waivers and explained what to do in case of an infection.  She showed me the vial (tiny little thing!) and asked if I wanted to keep it; I declined.  She showed me paperwork indicating the donor’s great mobility, sperm count, etc.  He is blood type A+ (still don’t know what mine is; will have to ask about that). 

Then I did the standard naked-below-waist-scooch-down-on-paper thing.  She put in the scapula (always unpleasant); said that the cervix was in the right position so she was confident about the timing, and said (very kindly) that I was “easy to inseminate”.  I squelched the urge to say, “that’s what he said”.

It didn’t feel like anything and was over in about thirty seconds (that’s what she said). Then I just hung out and read the New Yorker, and played with my phone a little bit.  And that was it.

That’s all fine, you ask, but how did you feel?

Well, I’ll tell you.  I felt absolutely, positively, great.  It felt like Christmas.  When I was lying there in those post-insemination moments, it wasn’t at all like Jennifer Anniston said in “The Switch”, that she “just felt sad”.  I didn’t feel sad, bad, angry, or scared.  I didn’t think about all the men that had disappointed me, I didn’t think about it not working, I didn’t think about my mother, or even my aunt, who in a way is what this is all about.  What did I think about?  I thought about the baby. 

 

Even in those moments before sperm met egg, I thought about how it’s already real.  I was going to rest my phone on my lap but then didn’t, because I didn’t want to hurt the baby. 

So, baby, even if this isn’t our moment, you’re already real to me; I’m already your mom.  Whether it takes me two weeks to find out you’re in the flesh or years to adopt you, I’m already your mom.  I went through a lot of anguish to bring you here, and there may be more ahead.  But all it takes is one good egg to make you real.  Just one.  And when you’re ready to be my kid, I’m ready to be your mom.