On to the world of average.

“Hello girls.”

The ultrasound technician welcomed us into the clinic room as if we were students late for first period.  Sea and I glanced at each other: “girls” coming to check on the status of our second kid.

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2016: year of the baby.

In an auspicious start to the new year, my period began on January 1st.
We didn’t end up trying in December, because it would have cut dangerously close to our holiday travel plans. We might have been able to squeeze in the IUI before we left, but we might also have been doing it on the way to the airport. So December came and went. I consumed a lot of sugar and paid very little attention to my uterus. It was lovely.
And now, 2016 is here: a year that, for one reason or another, will likely involve paying a lot of attention to my uterus.

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Partner’s Post: Clinic #3

If you’ve been reading along, you know I’m not on this strange trip into the world of fertility alone.  I have a partner, named Partner for the purposes of this blog.  If you’ve been reading along with some attention, you also know that Partner is not nearly as keen as I am to make babies.  Knowing how important this is to me, Partner has relented and has bravely stepped into the world of sperm donors and clinic visits with me.

Partner reads this blog (as do two other people who know us in real life).  A much better writer than I am, Partner has also been recording her experiences in all of this.  She’s allowing me to share what she has written here.

This is her experience of Clinic Three.

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Clinic One

Opinion, pre-visit:

My opinion of Clinic One prior to today’s visit was already covered in Not he.  To summarize: Clinic One was the clinic I knew the most about prior to these adventures in assisted reproduction.  To be honest, it was pretty much the only clinic I knew anything about.  Clinic One seems to be the gathering place for queer folks trying to make babies around here: every queer or trans person I know who has used a fertility clinic has used Clinic One.  My sample size here is small, granted, but I assumed that Clinic One must have something going for it.  Basically my reason for wanting to visit Clinic One was the same reason I tried deep fried pickles: everybody else was doing it.    Then Clinic One Receptionist called and asked about my husband, and the rosy glow surrounding Clinic One faded.  Clinic One is still the clinic fifteen minutes away from where I work and still the clinic where all of the queer and trans people I know have gone, but it’s also the clinic with the heterosexist receptionist.  Clinic One is the final stop on this whirlwind tour of fertility clinics, and I’m anxious.  If only I had my husband with me.

Score: 3.5/5

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