Last night I dreamed that Sea and I had a baby. I was pregnant in the beginning of the dream, but it then became clear that the baby had been born and we were supposed to pick her up. We went to get her from a building that looked a little bit like our grocery store. A group of people wearing white scrubs were working in an area that looked like a cross between a factory and a professional kitchen. They reached into a large metal machine and handed us our daughter. She was small, and had the same nose as Lefty– the one feature of our new donor that I really don’t like. As I tried to push the baby’s nose into a different shape, Sea held her. Walking through the aisles of the building, Sea and I decided that we would name the baby Venial Cupid. We decided this was an elegant name, reminicent of the goddess Venus. A friend of ours (V!) appeared and told us that the name was terrible, and sounded more like venereal disease than anything else.
I woke up and realized that it was time to go to Clinic One for cycle monitoring.
Clinic One was crowded, but operating with unusual efficiency. Within ten minutes of arriving at the clinic I had my pants off for the ultrasound. The sonographer, an older woman who has only performed one or two of my many ultrasounds, worked with friendly efficiency as “Some Nights” played over the radio: “What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights I don’t know anymore…” Pulling my pants back on, I told the sonographer that I find the ultrasounds less invasive than the blood drawing (true). Smiling, she explained that they were necessary, “but not very romantic”. Also true.
After my blood was drawn– from my hand again– Dr. Text called me in to the exam room he often uses as an office. After looking at my chart for a few minutes he bluntly announced, “Well, the Femara has done nothing.” I still only have one follicle– now 20mm. The 11mm follicle hasn’t grown but has, mysteriously, transferred sides from the left to the right. I’m going to assume that one of the sonographers marked it down on the wrong side and it hasn’t actually gone wandering, because if it has we have bigger problems than ineffective Femara.
Dr. Text flipped back and forth between the pages of my file, trying to decide when to trigger ovulation. Finally deciding on tonight, he sent me to see a nurse who would explain the process. Though I was only there to learn how to inject myself, she poked through my chart like a nosy relative, commenting on my beautiful follicle and asking why I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. She sighed over the cost of the processes in the same tone as somebody bemoaning the rising cost of gas. Finally, asking whether my thighs were less fat than my stomach, she told me how to inject myself. As we walked back out to the reception desks, I asked her what the “TDI” she had written on my chart stood for. She raised my file to her mouth before answering, in a stage whisper that would have made Heterosexist Receptionist proud, “therapeutic donor insemination”. Lowering the file, she cheerfully told me that if she was the one doing the procedure that she would set things up and then let Sea do the rest. This seems both sweet and suspect.
It turns out that the Inject Yourself 101 course was unnecessary: Nurse Brittany called early this afternoon to tell me that I was beginning to surge naturally and that I should refrigerate the (non-refundable/returnable) shot for later use. IUI #4 is on Monday morning.
Total Ultrasound Count: 27