Today has been a strange one.
My mom was surprisingly pleased, saying that, after seeing her friend's baby granddaughter recently, she was "primed" for a baby. I'll happily provide one, assuming Heather's uterus accommodates.
Heather, meanwhile, reports "ickiness." She was tragic but vague this morning; by the time I left work she said she felt like she'd been punched in the stomach and I was elated. For one, any unusual feeling is fodder for deluded interpretation, and, for two, it isn't the usual breast pain and cramps. Granted, we've been eating a lot of unhealthy food, but even if we dismiss the stomach pain (which I most assuredly do not), there still aren't any of Heather's usual crazy-ass PMS symptoms.
Fuck it, I'll take what I can get. We're only three days from testing.
At the other end of the spectrum, a Facebook friend just got her period after her first ICI, and, as hopeful as I am about Heather right now, I'm sobered by it. It's sad, unto itself, and it's sad to imagine she might have to go through it again. It's sad because it forces me to confront what might face us this weekend. My mom is primed for a baby, but so many of us are, and it's painful that that's not enough.
An article in the Times about Israel's astoundingly generous public coverage of fertility treatments quotes a government official who says, “We are very sensitive here to the desire of people to have a family. I think our country can be proud that a woman who wants to be a mother can try do so."
It turns out that the Israeli tax-payers are happy to support citizens who want children, without controversy and almost without exception. According to the article, single and lesbian women are covered, and the program might soon include gay men using surrogates. I've never before wanted to live in Israel, but I guess America is too busy "defending" marriage to support building families.