Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Here we go again on our own... Again.
Heather seemed surprised that it bothered me so much, saying that it was nice to see someone going through the same thing we are, but acknowledged that she'd be pissed if they, TV-style, dealt with one dramatic failure, only to come back a month later with a triumphant plus sign.
We inseminated Sunday, twice, without aid of Nurse Nina or her catheter, and it was both low-key and a source of total frustration. The upside was that we weren't spending the day furious with Nina for her unexpected fees and excruciating insertion, but the downside was that we were furious with each other. Say what you will about bonding experiences: stress like failure with $800 of sperm and our future doesn't bring anyone together. Maybe it does later, but it didn't for us. Heather and I are cursed with more or less equal degrees of controlling-ness, so it's painful for her to let me warm the vial, just like it's painful for me to watch her fill the syringe. We snarked at each other--
"It says just to leave the vial out to thaw for 15 or 20 minutes."
"But Whitney said we should definitely use the water bath."
"Whitney said to follow the directions that came with the tank. The instructions say to let it thaw on its own."
"That was the Cryobank, not Fairfax."
"Well, maybe they prepare their sperm differently, so we should do it the way Fairfax says."
So, that time, we left the vials on the counter.
In the interest of candor, I must note that the stress of thawing, syringe-filling, and cervix-checking does not lend itself to the post-insertion orgasm required by all reputable-- and some disreputable-- sources. Heather is a trooper, though, and would not be deterred by her profound irritation with me: there were going to be some motherfucking cervical contractions. It's a shame that she doesn't have a choking fetish, because that would have sped the process considerably. Alas.
We're back to the two-week wait. Lucky number seven.