Heather and I are inseminating tomorrow-- allegedly-- and decided to take a Christmas-morning approach, going to bed early so we'll be refreshed but also because we're going to be checking to see if Santa's come every few hours. The difference is that, on this particular holiday, "Santa" is abundant fertile mucus surrounding a gaping cervical opening, and Santa is not influenced by cookies.
Or is he? I've spent the last week reading feverishly about what Heather should or should not eat, reporting my findings to her, and getting bitched out for nagging her. Which is fair. I also read in The Essential Guide that couples always fight in the week prior to insemination, which is fair, too, since we're pumped full of adrenaline and cortisol or whatever the fuck it is that makes you vibrate with anxiety, and we can't do a goddamn thing about it but take it out on each other. I'm furious when I see Heather drink anything caffeinated and she's furious when she sees me watching. She's mad at Nurse Nina for charging us $85 to give her a pelvic ultrasound and mad at me for paying it. I am, in turn, mad at the clinic receptionist for not processing my payment before Heather got there. The only real laugh she's had today is when I half-fell off the exam table.
Whitney, to whose comforting, confident arms I have returned for e-mail advice, warned that the egg on the ovulation monitor is only reporting the LH surge-- an indicator that ovulation is forthcoming, not that it's present. Heather and I have been treating the egg on the monitor as our green light, so my instinct now is to say, oh, shit, we've got to slow down and wait longer this time. Heather is scared we'll wait too long. You would think just checking her cervix would settle it, but the cervix is like a slimy Sphinx, giving us hints we scramble to interpret. That's why Heather has an alarm set to wake us up every three hours tonight. Surely at some point we'll get a clearer hint.
I'm starting to get drowsy. I can't say for sure whether I know how to use the syringe without a needle, or whether we should put egg whites in Heather's vagina to mimic fertile mucus, or whether we will totally fail at inseminating since I neglected to get catheters from Nina. What if she can't wait till the afternoon to do the IUI? What if I miss another 937454397 hours of work while Heather and I discuss our visualization of her healthy egg and thick uterine lining? When will I ever get around to shaving my legs again?
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