This morning at “Really? On a Sunday?” o’clock, I took an early bus over to Clinic One for some baseline bloodwork, ultrasounding and sperm purchasing.
Sunday morning at Clinic One is where the action happens, clearly. The clinic room was more full than I have ever seen it as patients, partners and a handful of children waited restlessly next to the large fishtank. I signed in the required three times: bloodwork, ultrasound, visit with the doctor.
The blood drawing was, as it always is, a fiasco. As noted elsewhere, I hate needles. The very thought of them makes me squirm. This has cruelly been coupled with tiny veins, the result being that every blood draw involves a technician making displeased faces while I try to keep hysteria at bay. My hands were freezing from the cold morning bus, which was apparently a Very Bad Thing for blooddrawing. After one failed attempt, I was taken on a whirlwind tour of the clinic as they tried to find a tap with water hot enough to warm my hands. As blood eventually flowed, the technician asked, “So you’re the one doing this? Not your partner?” Well, yes. Indicated by that vial of my blood in your hands.
After much, much waiting and a predictably messy Day 2 ultrasound (my ovaries are beautiful, apparently!) followed by more waiting, I met with a doctor.
Apparently Dr. Text doesn’t work 365 days a year, so I met with his equally fast-paced counterpart, the left-handed Dr. Left. Dr. Left seemed both utterly frazzled and utterly bored as he rushed through the details of my “subclinical hypothyroid”. My what? Fantastic! More blood tests coming my way, with the threat of medication. It’s shocking that anybody every gets pregnant at all, really.
Finally, I met with a nurse for the major task of the day: ordering sperm. By some miracle, the slim chance that two vials of our of two vials of our first choice donor– Mickey– would be available seems to have panned out. Not only that, a third vial was incredibly procured. Not wanting to risk losing our chance with the donor that seems so right, we bought all three.
As the receptionist cheerfully said, “That will be $2400, please!” I gulped and paid up.
Come on, sperm, show us what you’ve got.
Total Ultrasound Count: 4
Next Up: HSG on Tuesday. These suck, right?