So am I the only one who think that there isn't enough IUI (Intrauterine Insemination) comedy out there? Seriously, guys, maybe it's just me? I really felt like the experience was out of the theater of the absurd.
The laughs began last week and throughout the weekend, when I peed on sticks every 5 hours. If I was at work, I would secret-store them in a pocket in my handbag to review in privacy later on. When I set out to do things furtively (i.e. get knocked up without telling anyone at the office), I go all black ops about it, no OPKs or HPTs will be left in the company rest-room trash bin, nuh-uh.
"Is the line in the square box as dark as the line in the oval box?" I would ask my husband every 5 hours, not trusting my decrepit eyesight (and having a touch of OCD). We each stared into each OPK the way a fortune teller might look at tea leaves. Meanwhile, my ovaries pulled (literally) their tricks again this cycle, I imagined them bursting with eggs there was so much cramping going on in there. Thank you 100mg of clomid (days 2-6 for anyone who is interested).
Husband and I awoke each morning at 6 to see if I had surged and try to time any sexy times accordingly, so that we would not jeopardize the actual IUI. (We wanted to ensure that he would have enough swimmers saved up for the procedure, and were hyper-conscious of not having him blow his wad - so to speak. Or rather, for reals). In our ideal world, we would get a good band of sperm in there naturally, go for an IUI right before I ovulated, and then do-the-deed (dtd) again later that night for good measure. He is a military history buff, so I described the plan of attack on my egg(s) in terms I think he understood (first the front line troops, then the cannon fire of the IUI, then another wave of troop support closing in from behind).
Sunday morning at 6am I peed on a stick and BAM, the surge had spoken (LH or luteinizing hormone surge, for anyone who cares). I called Dr. Cuddles at 6:50 (awkward) and she scheduled an IUI for us the following morning. My husband and I agreed that we would forsake all of the lust that a lumbering middle-aged couple like ourselves share, so that he could provide - ahem - a good sample for the IUI.
This morning I was awoken at 4am with some serious cramping on my left ovary (the right had been cramping the day before). I will confess a bit of panic that the game was over, was I ovulating?
Husband delivered the goods to the fertility lab at 8am and I sped up the road an hour later to pick up THE SAMPLE to deliver to Dr. Cuddles for my IUI, which would be performed in her office, about a block from the lab. And got caught in a post-snow flurry traffic jam (I live in a region of the US that is incapable of handling even a dusting of snow without great amounts of hand-wringing and fucked up driving). And finally arrived at the lab to pick up THE SAMPLE. Guys, I almost cracked up on the spot when I saw the teeny-tiny vial of THE SAMPLE. It was like, the size of niblet's toe. I was instructed to keep it "safe and warm" in my bra during the walk over to my RE's office.
5 minutes later:
Me: "Guess what I am doing now?"
Husband: "umm, did you pick it up?"
Me: "Yes, I'm walking it over to Dr. Cuddles' office. It is in my bra. Warm and cozy, ensconced in the protection of my bosom."