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Archive for December, 2008

I’m in the middle of a move this week and suddenly compulsively wondering what nasty metals are in this dust I’ve been breathing for the past few days. Tonight I realized my wall-to-wall synthetic carpets and vinyl floors probably aren’t so great for a developing fetus. Glue and arsenic. Vinyl blinds Made in China (or Mexico) have lead in them. Um. I’m not neurotic. I’m just reading the wrong books.

Anyway, I suddenly have real bona fide access to the outdoors, and trading freight trains in my front “yard” for apple-pilfering deer seems like a win for the Environmental Pluses for Developing Brain Health category.

Meanwhile, I got the test results. Sort of inconclusive. It was weird, the doctor said something like “your progesterone is fine” (despite that mysteriously short luteal phase) and “you tested the other stuff on the wrong day so do it again.” Not wanting to drain myself into another four vials – as useful as it’s been for helping me get through my leisure reading – I started to question why I’m doing all this testing anyway. He continued that thought with something about hormonal injections for my IUI. More needles. I’m sensing a theme…

Woah nelly, why do we need those test anyway? And hormone injections? They’re standard for infertile couples, but I’m not in either of those subgroups. He replied something mildly acquiescant about my decision to do it “naturally,” saying it would take longer if there were only one egg instead of two per cycle. I reminded him that I haven’t even inseminated yet. Ever. Not once. So back off buster.

Okay, off the phone and wondering where to wander next, a friend provided a great answer: IUI at home. I’d considered it before, but it’s easier now that the highly medical Let’s Just Get This Over With route has so thoroughly alienated me. There’s a bevvy of nurses that charge a bit less than the clinic to come to your house and do it. That’s my next phone call, and no doubt, a story waiting in the wings.

Meanwhile, people at work are clamoring for me to travel on the very same week that my next egg will, so it looks like February is my first insemination (hey, note, I actually know when I ovulate now… even without getting cozy with the cervix!). This is great, now I have time to suck down gallons of green tea, fill my house with chemical-sucking plants, and DeToxify!

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I had a series of blood tests a few weeks ago … did I say my luteal phase is short? That’s what precipitated the whole thing. Apparently the egg can be fertilized, but if you don’t have enough progesterone there isn’t enough time for it to turn into a non-flushable entity… or something. So they took a small vial of blood and I nearly fainted. Actually, the band-aid hurt more than the bloodletting:

ow.

ow.

And while we’re at it, my doctor thought it would be a good idea to find out what the eggs are doing a week later. 4 more vials. This I survived by becoming deeply engrossed in Obama’s biography. Got through 2 pages before she was done and then heartily refused any bandaging. Hey, I can’t claim I’m not learning something here.

It’s a slow process. Now two weeks later I’m waiting to have the results deciphered and wanting to just go ahead and inseminate. Except I’ve convinced myself that doing it myself is like throwing a $1000 party. Novel and exciting and nothing to show for it the next day. But assuming I know the first thing about my cycle, it seems I’ll be ovulating tomorrow when the doctor calls to tell me what the blood has to say, so missing the opportunity to have him escort the sperm for me this month.

Oh and meanwhile I moved. Away from the crazy wild industrial zone I was loving in the east up to a hippie suburban neighborhood of the north. That’s a statement of commitment, kid: I’m nesting.

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